


Circles

by jambal



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Emotional AU, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friendship/Love, I promise, It will happen, M/M, Rated explicit for eventual frottage and penetration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 19:04:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jambal/pseuds/jambal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotional AU.</p><p>Wherein the universe allows Sherlock and John to meet in their teens and the aforementioned universe looks out for them, for an infinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whywouldIwanttohavedinner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whywouldIwanttohavedinner/gifts).



> This work has had one, indispensable constant. Without her it would be a shambles and I needed her wisdom, her encouragement and for her to tell me when I was being an idiot (Line would never say such) (but on many occasions I was)

_"I'll circle round you. You will circle round me."_

Part One

London, January 2007

 

As he lies on the grass John looks up at the sky. 

He immediately thinks of dying. 

The vast darkness is seemingly everlasting and the billions of shining blemishes shine down like a warning. 

He closes his eyes.

Most people look at the night sky and are overcome with proclamations of love and dreams so vivid they can feel them burning behind their eyes, like those significant balls of fire. 

John doesn't think of love. John doesn't think of dreams. John doesn't have the chance. 

A ruffling of clothing interrupts his thoughts and unceremoniously falls down beside him.

John isn't most people. He is adrift. 

"John?"

 

 

_London, December 1997_

_John lay in that garden when he was seventeen years old._

_He was walking home from school and it was already dark. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to explain anything. He climbed the fence and lay on the grass._

_He closed his eyes and for a moment everything was silent._

_A shuffling sound interrupted his silence, like an epiphany._

_"Who are you?"_

_The voice was small, yet it was fierce. It held authority. It was imposing._

_John opened his eyes and sat up._

_Young eyes were bright and interested, staring back at him._

_"John Watson."_

_The stranger drew his eyebrows together and John remembers the exasperated sigh before the stranger flung himself on the grass._

_"I'm Sherlock Holmes."_

 

 

London, January 2007

 

John opens his eyes and holds his breath for three beats. 

The bundle of noise beside him shuffles and sighs. 

John isn't sure what he is doing. He is lying on the grass, like he does most evenings. 

He doesn't know what it is, but it is nice. 

It is nicer than going home after rugby.

It is nicer than going home. 

It is just nice.

 

 

_London, December 1997_

_"Sherlock Holmes? That's your name?"_

_His new companion frowned and turned to face him._

_"I don't like to repeat myself. My name is Sherlock Holmes. I think you'll find it's rather memorable, John." Sherlock's voice cut through the air and his words were administered like a shotgun._

_"Jesus -- I'll go. I was just avoiding the shit-storm. I'll get out of your way."_

_John started to leave, a hand fell to his arm, it gripped tight._

_"No. Tell me why you're here -- wait, no -- I can figure it out. Let me figure it out."_

_The hand relaxed on John's arm and John found that he didn't want to leave. He relaxed into the grass once more and turned to face this strange boy. He sat cross-legged, facing Sherlock, as he was gazed at._

_"Alright," John said, smiling. "Go on then."_

_The boy's eyes got impossibly brighter._

_"You're upset. I couldn't possibly know the details, but you don't want to go home. You're still in your school uniform. You haven't been home. Why don't you want to go home? -- no, don't tell me -- Parents. Siblings. Obvious. Which is it? Parents. Your mother?"_

_John sat in silence._

_"Mother. Okay. She's not cruel. You're not in distress. You're just upset. If you go home you'll have to face whatever it is that's brought you here. You were in a fight. You were forced to stay late and now you must go home and face the music. Your mother would never condone violence, but that's not what worries you. It's the why. It's her fault."_

_John shifted awkwardly._

_"How the hell did you know all of that?" John breathed._

_Sherlock beamed at him. "I didn't know it. I deduced it. There are raw marks on your knuckles. You don't look like a violent tear away, John Watson. You're a child--"_

_"Hey! I'm older than you--"_

_"-- who got into a scrap, after one of your peers insulted your mother. You were caught and you feel guilty. Why do you feel guilty? -- ah, yes -- you agree with them. Whatever they said, you defended her on impulse, but you agree... Interesting."_

_A blush was spread across John's face and it continued down his neck. He shifted slightly before opening his mouth to speak._

_"She's an alcoholic," John said, softly._

_"Yes."_

_John let out a shaky laugh. "I don't give a shit what people say about her. I agreed with the prick. I don't know. I just snapped and I hit him."_

_"You didn't just hit him, though," Sherlock said, darkly, looking at John's knuckles with interest._

_"No. I broke his nose. I didn't mean to. I just lost it. Then I was pulled off him by an upper-sixth lad and then I was sitting in a classroom, alone, waiting for my form tutor," John's voice was small._

_"I'm sorry about your mother," Sherlock said, after a moment._

_"Thanks," John said. "I'm sorry about the trespassing."_

_A chuckle erupted from the younger boy's mouth. "Yes. Well, I'll overlook that. I should really go back inside. Mycroft doesn't have all day, apparently."_

_"Mycroft..."_

_Sherlock chucked again and then stood. "My brother. It's Classics today. I may actually die from all of the irrelevant information I'm about to consume."_

_John gazed up at him. "Not as irrelevant as what you've just sat through."_

_Sherlock's gaze intensified. "That wasn't irrelevant, John."_

_The silence between the two stretched._

_John stood and levelled with the younger boy._

_"It was nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes."_

_"You too, John Watson."_

_John watched his new companion stalk away, before he turned on his heel and started on his way home._

 

 

London, January 2007

 

"Fuck off, Sherlock." 

The figure beside him chuckles softly. 

John thinks he will rather miss that sound. 

He thinks that he'd like to hear it as often as possible.

He thinks about how he is the only other person to hear it. 

"You do realise you're in my garden? Lying on my grass?" Sherlock's voice chides. "Speaking of grass..."

John glances towards his companion and smiles.

"Go on then."

Sherlock could roll a spliff expertly. He had perfected it, like everything. 

"For posterity, John."

 

 

_London, May 1999_

_He had hesitated. A first year medical student shouldn't smoke weed. A first year medical student shouldn't do a lot of things. John could hear his mother's voice as he took that first draw. He could see her face as he exhaled the smoke with a satisfied groan. Her face disappeared when he heard Sherlock chuckle darkly beside him._

_"Oh, God," John breathed._

_Another chuckle._

_"Is it always this intense?"_

_John had closed this eyes and allowed himself to appreciate the numbness of his lips, until it began to overwhelm his senses._

_"No. You'll get used to it," Sherlock mused. "Although, this is good stuff."_

_John opened his eyes and turned on his side to face Sherlock._

_"What if I don't want to get used to it?" John asked. His words were weighted and Sherlock shifted, mirroring him._

_"You will," Sherlock whispered, barely audible._

_They lay side by side, in silence, for a few moments._

_Their words settled around them and the glorious feeling of that first high dissipated._

_John stood with a groan and left Sherlock, contemplative, in the darkness._

 

 

London, January 2007

 

John looks at Sherlock's face in the darkness. 

Pale and angular in the moonlight. He is always pale. _Achingly so_ , John thinks. 

John watches his hands as Sherlock rolls the grass in the translucent paper. Nimble fingers working quickly. He raises the spliff to his lips and licks the paper, sealing in their loot.

John lets out a shaky breath and his companion chuckles again, mid-lick.

"Impatient, are we?" 

John bites his lip before he answers. Yes, for a lot of things. 

He watches the pale face concentrate as he lights the spliff and takes a long and decadent draw.

"You could say that, yeah," John managed.

Sherlock exhales a low laugh with a puff of smoke. He passes the spliff down to John.

John takes it in his right hand. He feels happy. Happy in the anticipation of the first draw. Happy because he is lying on grass in the darkness. Happy because he is with Sherlock. He raises the spliff to his parted lips and takes a long inhale. Something was missing. He releases the smoke and passes the spliff back up.

"Better?" Sherlock breathes.

John glances up to him and smiles. It is better. Things usually are better when he is in close proximity of Sherlock. He doesn't think about it too often. Rather, he tries not to. But he is always, on some level, conscious of it. 

"Much better, ta." 

Sherlock takes a final draw and passes the spliff down to John.

"You're quieter tonight."

John inhales and releases the smoke with a shaky breath.

"I'm always quiet," John says, by a way of an explanation.

"I said quieter. I'm aware of your natural quietness. I mean, more quiet. You seem more introspective. Something is on your mind."

"Not now, Sherlock. Not tonight."

Sherlock looks at his friend and draws his eyebrows together.

"You told your mother about the Army."

Not a question. It never is with Sherlock. John closes his eyes and can feel his heartbeat quicken. His mouth has gone incredibly dry. He raises the spliff to his lips, his hand is shaking. His lips begin to tremble. He is panicking. He holds his breath for three beats and then opens his eyes.

"Yes."

Sherlock nods and then lies down on the grass. They lie in silence for a few moments, parallel. Chests rising and falling in a seemingly practiced synchronicity. They usually talk about what is currently pissing them off (previous subjects included; Mycroft, Harriet, their parents - unnecessary appendages) or they would simply be together.

They would usually talk about what they were going to do when they were free from family restraints. 

Sherlock, when John told him almost two years ago, reacted how Sherlock always reacted. He told John that he already knew. They often try not to talk about it. Sherlock would talk about all that he wasn't going to do, now he had graduated. John would tell him he's an idiot and would ask him had he not been living vicariously through his indecisions. Sherlock would look at John, shake his head and call him a moron for thinking such a thing. 

"Be a GP. Steal prescription drugs. You don't have to run away." 

Sherlock's words cut through the silence, like a knife. 

John doesn't want to have this conversation. He doesn't need it.

"I'm not running away. I'm doing something," John punctuates his words, stabbing the joint into the ground.

"You don't have to be on the front line, being blown up by IEDs, just to prove you're a hero. Heroes don't exist, John," Sherlock's eyes are piercing as he speaks. John notices they are rather red, too. 

"I'm not trying to be a hero."

Sherlock looks away with an exasperated sigh. There is a reason they avoid it. 

"It wasn't your fault. Any of it."

John snaps his eyes to Sherlock, his neck tries to protest. Sherlock's profile is transcendent. All sharp edges and alabaster skin. His chest is rising and falling in waves. John thinks that he could drown in him.

"Don't."

Sherlock smiles to himself, knowing he can win.

"Don't what?" Sherlock says, innocently.

"Don't try to make me stay."

Sherlock isn't expecting that, he looks at John who gazes earnestly at him.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Sherlock doesn't break the gaze.

"Good, because I'm going -- and I need you to be supportive of that. When mum and Harry finally lose the bat, I need to know that you'll be here..."

John's eyes are pleading as he speaks. 

"I'm not going anywhere, John," Sherlock says, eyes bright and sincere. "I can hardly sit up. I'm rather horizontal."

John's features shift and contort into a huge smile. He jabs Sherlock in the ribs for good measure and they both erupt into a fit of giggles.

"You're a wanker," John manages, once he can breathe.

"So eloquent, John."

Sherlock turns his head to meet John's gaze.

"Oh, fuck off," John's tone is jovial but his eyes are serious. They both move closer and suddenly the chill of the night air dissipates.

"You'll make me blush with such pleasantries."

John licks his lips after Sherlock speaks.

"Shut up a minute." 

Their faces are incredibly close and their breaths mingle in the no mans land between their two bodies. 

Tension threatens to come to the surface. 

"I should go. I'll -"

"Yes."

John smiles down at Sherlock, whose face is as open as he has ever seen it. 

Sherlock smiles back, warily.

 

 

_London, December 2003_

_"How was it?" Sherlock's voice was distant and lacked enthusiasm._

_John frowned at his friend before lying on the grass beside him._

_"She was good," John said. "It was good."_

_Sherlock let out a huff of laughter._

_"What?" John said, turning on his side._

_"Nothing."_

_John frowned again. "I like her."_

_They lay in silence for awhile._

_"I gathered," Sherlock finally said._

 

 

London, January 2007

 

Sherlock lies in silence. 

He smiles to himself before standing.

He stares at the imposing house in front of him.

He looks to the sky and closes his eyes before unwillingly drifting towards the labyrinth of bricks and mortar that has never felt like home.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

- 

Afghanistan-London, 2007

 

Sender: John Watson

 

Sherlock, do you check your emails?

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Yes. 

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

So, this is okay?

For when I have free time?

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

It's enough.

SH

-

 

Sender: John Watson

 

I've been away for sixteen weeks. That's four whole months. I know you know that. I'm not an idiot - I'm not - I'm just, I'm happy. 

That's ridiculous, considering what I'm doing. But I'm happy. Happier than I can ever remember being. 

I just wanted you to know that I am okay. I hope you're okay. I do miss you, shit, I forgot to say that. I do. I miss you. You and your grass. Your annoying voice. Your eyes when I've said something stupid. I miss all of it. For operational reasons I can't carry my mobile phone. I have 30 minutes worth of phone calls per week. Just in case I can't get to a computer. We're lucky here. We have two laptops and one PC. There's just a lot of us to get through. I can contact you at least once a week, maybe two weeks. I may not reply straight away, but I will always reply, eventually. 

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Your ability to make me sigh in exasperation, from over 3000 miles away, is a gift. 

For operational reasons, don't ever stop.

What is the climate like? What would you do on a regular day? Are you on the ground? Do you stay at the camp? You’re a doctor, John; do you treat on ground or back at the camp? Is it lonely? 

I am pleased to know you're happy. It's a weight that has been lifted.

Don't do anything stupid.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

I won't, I promise. I have never wanted to be bored so much in my life. It's difficult to explain, only a few of the guys I'm with have experienced deadly fire. They say it's exhilarating and wouldn't wish it upon anyone. They smile when they talk about it. I'm excited but I'm scared. It's fucking brutal out here. My basic training seems like a lifetime away. What are you doing with yourself? Please tell me you're at least looking for work.

You didn't say that you miss me.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Four months is a rather long time.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

I didn't expect communication to be this sparse. 

Of course it's lonely. I've grown close to a few of the lads. I get by. 

I'm sorry, I can't say much. I can say that it has been six months and I miss you. I have leave soon. I'll keep you updated. Please tell me you're working. Do I need to contact Mycroft? (It will only take six months. Fuck sake.)

I miss you,

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Don't apologise, John. One email is enough from you. One email that I can read in your voice is all I need. I am working. Don't bother with Mycroft. 

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Do I want to ask? Do I need to tell you to be safe?

They appreciate that I had trained to be a doctor. The next time I see you, I will be Lieutenant Doctor John Hamish Watson. Doesn't that sound posh? 

Tomorrow I find out when I'll be coming home. I'm fucking excited. I'll try to email you as soon as I hear. I wish I could ring, but Harry took all of my 30 minutes for this week. 

Speak soon, 

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

No.

A man deserving of his title.

I will wait for your email.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Eight weeks. 

Put it in your calendar.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Eight weeks.

I don't own a calendar.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Don't sound too excited, you tit.

This is bloody ridiculous. I have so much to tell you. 

Seven weeks.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Seven weeks.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

I would be pissed off if I didn't know what you were like. 

Is it because I didn't answer your questions? I miss your questions.

Six weeks.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Six weeks.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

The heat is unbearable. You wouldn't survive out here. I'm barely surviving. It's tough. I wish I was home. Or with you. Outside, lying on the grass. I can close my eyes and I'm there.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

All I ask is that you come home and I promise we will carry on from where we left off.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Until I have to leave again. It was difficult the first time. Almost unbearable. I have enjoyed my time on operation. I'm happy. But I miss you. Jesus, I even missed Harry the other day. Bill is standing over my shoulder, as I type this. He says I'm shit at typing. I'm not. Now he's saying that communication is so few and far between because John Watsons are doing all of the writing and typing. 

At least on leave I can get away from these wankers.

Soon.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

I need to know you're happy, John. I need to know that what you're doing out there is fulfilling whatever it is you're trying to fulfil. I need to know that you being gone for months and years, is worth it because you're happy. 

I won't like saying goodbye again, but of course I can be logical if I know it's what you want.

Don't be a hero until it's absolutely necessary.

Who's Bill?

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Sherlock, I have been gone for almost nine months. I'm coming home in one week and I'm scared. I'm fucking terrified. I miss you.

The guys here are almost as happy as I am; they worried for me, for a while. They thought I'd got a girl back home. I told them I’ve got a communication going with my best friend, they told me to wise up. They can be a bunch wankers.

I don't want to waste my time back home talking about this place. I know your questions and I've thought about your questions. I guess I should try and type a small amount of information from my time out here, so far. Obviously the detail will be limited for operational reasons but I hope that it will give you an insight into what we get up to and the things that make this place equally horrible and beautiful, and it's a reason to type a lot to you, and knowing that you will read it. 

Southern Afghanistan is the most inhospitable region in the entire country with temperatures being so uncomfortable in the summer, going plus of 50 degrees. Sherlock, this is what we all complain about the most. The fucking temperatures, can you believe that? All of the fucking bloodshed and we sit around talking about the weather; fucking Brits. The Yanks say that they can spot a Brit a mile off. They’re the one using their callsheet as a fan in one hand and their other hand is placed on their hip. 

I can’t argue with this, the heat is fucking ridiculous. The weather has now changed, though. It is much more bearable and it reaches about 18 degrees. It’s the night, at night it gets worse, and the temperature drops to below zero. No one could get used to this climate; it’s difficult, very difficult. It’s easy to miss London, I don’t think about it too often. We all miss home, some more than others.

The land here is mostly barren rock and desert for miles; the dust and the wind, it fills your lungs as you leave the gate and sometimes you can’t breathe. It can be terrifying for the new Lieutenants. It can turn your stomach if you’re not careful. You stay clean for about 5 seconds here, on a good day. It’s tough on the cleaners, we joke. The sun is blinding; really blinding. We sometimes sit back at the gate and find it difficult to step past it, the dust and the sun, it’s overwhelming sometimes. I know you’ll find it difficult to understand the suffocating feeling of it all being too much. It overwhelms the senses and there’s nothing you can do but breathe in the dust and cover your eyes from the blinding light, it does get easier, but the feeling will stay with you, forever. 

The people here in particular are very conservative; they live a very plain life, with the exception that they have electricity, motorbikes, mobile phones, oh and obviously guns! They are extremely hostile towards us. They are loyal to the Taliban; who have a mob-mentality grip on the population, like a vice or a claw that refuses to let go until its prey yields and it’s won. They have poisoned many minds and it is clear that the population is under constant threat from both sides; us and their leaders. I can’t imagine how they must feel, being in the middle of such bloodshed, they have no choice, really. Those that are supportive of our presence should consider themselves lucky to be alive; many have died. It is easier for them to support the Taliban and stay alive. Their choice remains; kill or be killed. Yesterday a group of children were killed by an IED on their way to school; innocent children who don’t understand this madness. I wish to say more on the subject but -- I can't. I just hope you can never imagine or understand what it feels to see six year old kids die on the roadside. It’s something that I want to forget, it reminds me how alone I am out here. I miss you the most on these days. It starts at my toes and works its way up and it consumes me.

The enemy are hard to see because they come from the local population, they wear no uniform and you can't distinguish them from local farmers until they start firing at you. I’m lucky, in some ways. I’m on the ground a lot, treating our guys and sometimes innocent people caught in the fire; being a doctor means that I don’t do much killing; although I see more of it than most. The complexity of operations is extreme, I’m not 100% clued up on it, and like I said, I’m mostly on ground treating our injured guys, but the danger is always close by. I’ve heard of their hit and run tactics, they know that we will eventually win any fire-fight they engage in with us, and so they organise small-scale ambushes, and then most cowardly of all, the use of the IEDs. This is why we must continue to push the enemy back, constantly keep him guessing and fuck up his mindset.

The job is extremely demanding and constantly challenging, we live on the extreme end of a volatile world but this is something I and all those other souls chose to do, and if we don’t take the fight to them here we would be doing it on the streets of London, with much greater consequences for all. I often have to sit down and remind myself why I’m here; I’m here defending my country and helping those who have chosen to do exactly the same. It’s a fucking nightmare, a nightmare you never wake up from, but I chose to do this. I chose this life. I can’t complain for too long, I simply can't.

You asked about the feeling of war, I think? The feeling is like nothing I have ever felt before. The rush and the unabashed adrenalin you feel when in fire, it’s breathtaking in all senses of the word. I’m scared, a lot. I miss home. I miss you. I miss a lot of things, but most of all I miss lying on the grass and talking about absolutely nothing. 

One week.

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes.

 

Don't you dare miss that flight.

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

I wouldn't dream of it.

I'm sorry about that last email. 

John

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

I told you to never apologise. 

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

Fine. I'm not sorry, you tosser.

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes

 

Better.

Are you treating computers instead of people, John?

SH

-

Sender: John Watson

 

I have time. I can't sleep.

-

Sender: Sherlock Holmes 

 

Yes.

SH

-

Incoming Call ~

-

"Hello"

 

"Sherlock."

 

"John."

 

"Your voice. I can hear you - you sound, oh fuck, you sound - Sherlock."

 

"Yes. We've established that, John."

 

"Don't you dare be a prick, not when we haven't spoken for nine months."

 

"I wouldn't - John, we have spoken countless times."

 

"Emails don't count."

 

"Yes they do."

 

"No - Jesus, Sherlock."

 

*laughter*

 

"Sherlock, are you - stop laughing."

 

"Sorry. I'll be good. Emails don't count. Fine. I concede."

 

"Is that a posh way of you saying you're wrong?"

 

"I'm wrong."

 

"I've missed you."

 

-

-

-

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"I'm processing."

 

"What the fuck are you processing? I've only got 20 minutes left."

 

"I'm processing how you haven't changed."

 

"This has been harder than I expected."

 

"You're happy, though? You are, aren't you?"

 

"Yes. I'm happy."

 

"John..."

 

"I wouldn't dream of lying to you, Sherlock. Take my word for it."

 

"Okay."

 

"I've missed your voice."

 

"It hasn't been the same around here. Mycroft -- I was going to tell you in person. I've been working with the police."

 

-

-

-

 

"John?"

 

"Sorry - I was processing."

 

"John."

 

"Really. Sherlock, you working with the police equates to me working with the T."

 

"Don't be dramatic, John."

 

"I'm not. I'm surprised."

 

"As was I. It turns out I'm rather useful to the force. They consult me when they're out of their depth. Which, lucky for me, is often."

 

"Wow - Sherlock - that's - amazing."

 

"You really think so?"

 

"Yes. Truly brilliant. Have you found your calling, detective?"

 

"John-"

 

"D. I. Holmes."

 

"I'm warning-"

 

"Putting the dic-"

 

"John Hamish Watson. Shut the fuck up."

 

-

-

-

 

"John?"

 

"Did you just tell me to shut the fuck up?"

 

"You know I don't like to repeat myself, John."

 

"I've never really heard you swear before."

 

"Did I shock you, Lieutenant?"

 

"A bit, yeah."

 

"Did you like it?"

 

"Sherlock..."

 

"What?"

 

"Stop it."

 

"Fine. How long have you got left?"

 

"10 minutes."

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah - we wouldn't have survived if we had done this from the beginning. At least I'm back home next week."

 

"Yes."

 

-

-

-

 

"Sherlock?"

 

"What?"

 

"Stop being quiet, I have to hang up soon."

 

"I know."

 

"Soon. As in 5 minutes."

 

"I know."

 

"Say something then."

 

-

-

-

 

"Come home."

 

"Soon."

 

"One week."

 

"One week."

 

"I miss you, Sherlock."

 

"Come home."


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

-

_ London, January 1998 _

_"Mycroft seems to think you're seducing me."_

_Sherlock's words were muffled as he threw himself on the grass to lie beside John._

_"Excuse me?"_

_Sherlock shot John a withering look and then proceeded to look at the sky._

_"I - I'm - we're friends, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock chuckled softly._

_"John, don't be an idiot. I know you're not trying to seduce me."_

_Silence stretched on and darkness loomed over them._

_"Why does your brother think that I'm trying to seduce you, Sherlock?"_

_Silence._

_"Sherlock?"_

_The wind howled loudly, hiding Sherlock's exasperated sigh._

_"Because you're older."_

_A car alarm went off in the distance._

_"Did you tell him that I'm in university? Did you tell him that I am training to be a doctor?"_

_Silence._

_"Sherlock?"_

_This time Sherlock's sigh was audible. "I did not. I don't have to tell him anything."_

_John stood to leave._

_"John, what on earth are you doing?" Sherlock said, standing to match John's height._

_"I'm going home, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock moved closer, his height completely countered the three year age difference between them both. Their faces were incredibly close._

_"Do not be ridiculous, John."_

_John frowned and turned his head._

_"I'm not being ridiculous, Sherlock."_

_John left. Sherlock stood in the darkness._  

 

 

London, January 2008

 

Sherlock lies on the grass. 

He opens his eyes and tries to think of something better. 

He breathes out a sigh. 

John has been gone for nine months; for that time he has lived not knowing how John's days have ended, not knowing what John has had for lunch because of the way he chews on his bottom lip, not knowing how much he needs him. Perhaps he doesn't need him anymore. Sherlock winces when he thinks about a John he doesn't know. For nine months he has been without the one and only fixed relationship he has ever had. For nine months he has lain on the grass without him. He couldn't even comprehend John not coming home. It wasn't an option. But he is coming home. 

Soon, that's what John had said. And he is right. 

John, for someone so ordinary, he's always right.

Sherlock closes his eyes and imagines the wind. 

Volatile wind.

Not a cool breeze.

Not today.

 

 

_ London, January 1998 _

_"John, I'm sorry."_

_It had been one week. One week since they had seen one another._

_Sherlock lay on his side, facing John._

_The wind was fierce and the grass was slightly damp._

_"Tell me what you're thinking."_

_John allowed a sliver of a smile to surface. It quickly faded away._

_"You don't need me to tell you anything."_

_Sherlock drew his eyebrows together and turned to lie on his back._

_"Don't be childish, John."_

_The wind howled loudly._

_"Me being - I am not being childish, Sherlock. I, for one, would rather that my friend's brother didn't think I was trying to molest his younger sibling. I, for one, would rather that my friend would be less blasé about the entire thing and would tell his older sibling where to shove it, because a friendship between two people, where one party is three years older, does not a seduction make."_

_Silence stretched on for a bit._

_They turned their heads to face each other and their laughter tore through the wind._

_"You are such a wanker," John breathed, once their laughter had dissipated._

_"I shouldn't have to defend you-"_

_John glanced at Sherlock as he spoke._

_"-Mycroft is a grown man. He doesn't care what you are or who you are. He's controlling me. He's dangerous."_

_"Well, aren't you lucky that I'm not going anywhere?"_

_"Yes," Sherlock smiled at the darkening sky._

_"I'm fucking freezing."_

_They wordlessly shifted and lay together. Silence stretched on and their breathing was indistinguishable._  

 

London, January 2008

 

Sherlock opens his eyes to the blue sky above him. 

The sun is blinding and the breeze feels pleasant across his face. 

John would be returning home, a different man. A better man. Too good for him.

His mobile phone interrupts his silence.

He stands with a sigh.

-

Clapham Junction. Now.

-GL

- 

I'm busy.

-SH

-

Anderson isn't on forensics.

-GL

-

Still busy.

-SH

-

\----incoming call----

 

"What?" 

 

"Sherlock, it's your privilege to be invited to these crime scenes. You are not busy. Clapham Junction. Two bodies. Now."

 

"John will be home in approximately two hours. I'm busy."

 

"You better not be busy tomorrow."

 

"Give my best to Sergeant Donovan."

 

\-----call ended-----

 

 

_ London, January 2006 _

_"Sherlock, what are you doing?"_

_John was teetering behind Sherlock, suppressing giggles as they made their way towards the house, in the darkness._

_"I told you, John-" Sherlock paused, holding his arms out, seemingly steadying himself. "I'm going to carve my name on the fence."_

_"Are you a child?" John giggled into his hands._

_"No, John. I'm Sherlock."_

_John erupted into a fresh fit of giggles. "You're fucking buggered, that's what you are."_

_Sherlock stopped and John collided into his back. He wrapped his arms around the taller man and breathed into his neck._

_"John - let - let go."_

_John inhaled again. "I can't."_

_Sherlock tried to spin them around. They landed on the grass in a mass of limbs and helpless laughter._

_The laughter died._

_Their faces were mere centimetres apart._

_John leaned in and lightly pressed his lips to Sherlock's forehead._

_As far as first kisses went, it wasn't really a kiss at all, a soft press of lips to skin and rushed breath through noses. Sherlock pulled away and lay on his back._

_John got to his feet._

_"Get up you drunkard," John said, swaying slightly, with a ridiculous grin._

_Sherlock gazed up at him, an almost frown overwhelming his features. "I can't."_

_John's sigh was audible. "Sherlock, I swear to Christ."_

_Silence._

_"Don't."_

_John opened and closed his mouth before speaking. "Don't what?"_

_More silence._

_"Swear to Christ."_

_"Why not?" John chuckled._

_Silence._

_"I don't know."_

_"Sherlock, take my hand," John said, before taking a sobering step forward._

_Silence._

_"No."_

_"No - Why on earth not?" John almost vibrated with frustration._

_Silence._

_"You kissed me."_

_John closed his eyes and forced a smile. "Has that rendered you immobile?"_

_Sherlock let out a huff of a breath. "Of course not. Idiot."_

_Laughter._

_"You flatter me. Now, get the fuck up and come over to that arse-ing fence and carve our names."_

 

 

London, January 2008

 

Sherlock smiles to the bright sky. 

He can just about remember it. 

Some memories are more accessible than others. John-memories are important. They're catalogued and unlocked, ready to explore and relive whenever he's lonely or angry or-

Sherlock sighs into the vast space around him. It has never felt this vast. So empty. Soon to be alive again. It has been almost one year. Time that has passed without John to talk to. Since when did he need to talk to someone? Since when did he need someone? 

He needs John. 

The thought reverberates through him like a nightmare. There's adrenalin and his breathing is rapid. He needs him. Sherlock Holmes doesn't need anyone. And yet, here he is. John is like the ocean, he's drawn into him and it's terrifying. What would John think if he knew? What if he has always known? Who is Bill? Sherlock shakes his head. 

A laugh escapes and he doesn't recognise the sound. It sounds foreign. He winces.

Jealousy.

 _It feels like a panic-attack_ , Sherlock fleetingly thinks. 

A new feeling, perhaps. 

One that is most certainly not welcome. He raises his hands to his face and releases a drawn out groan. He doesn't feel things this way. He didn't. He didn't before he started needing him. When did he start needing him? Time is a funny thing. Was it the moment his nose crinkled the first time Sherlock heard him say his name? Was it his reaction to his first joint? Was it his face the moment everything seemed to change? 

Sherlock can't remember. That's not right. He should know. 

He needs to know the exact moment. That moment when John became the most important facet of his life. 

 

 

_ London, December, 2004 _

_"Mum's getting worse," John said suddenly._

_Sherlock opened his eyes and looked across to his friend._

_"Today she was completely unresponsive," John continued. "I think she was unconscious from the early morning."_

_Sherlock stared at John, completely unmoving._

_"Sherlock?" John said, opening his eyes._

_"What?"_

_John frowned. "Are you listening?"_

_Sherlock huffed out a breath of cynical laughter. "Yes."_

_"She's killing herself, Sherlock," John started. "I'm watching her die slowly."_

_"I don't know why you're telling me this, John," Sherlock said._

_"Fuck you," John said. "You're my best friend."_

_Sherlock laughed again. "Yes. Don't you have a special friend to tell these inane things?"_

_John's eyes were wide and disbelieving. He had shifted slightly to sit and he stared down at Sherlock. "Mary?"_

_Sherlock nodded. "I think she's better suited for this information. You may even get sex after it."_

_"Why are you being such an enormous bastard?" John said._

_Sherlock stared at the sky in silence._

_"Sherlock?!" John said, anger radiated from his voice._

_Sherlock sat up and faced John._

_They stared at each other for a few moments before Sherlock raised his left hand and rested it on John's neck._

_John swallowed thickly and closed his eyes._

_Sherlock continued his light touch and he catalogued John's breathing._

_"Sherlock," John whispered, warning slightly._

_Sherlock retracted his hand and smiled. "Why are you here, John?"_

_"You've never cared to ask me before," John said, opening his eyes. "I'm here because you're my friend."_

_"Yes," Sherlock breathed. "Your best friend."_

_They stared at each other before John stood to leave. Sherlock followed, and looked down at John._

_"Have you told her?" Sherlock asked._

_"No," John answered, looking at the ground and watching the breeze flutter the blades of grass beneath their feet. "It's not her concern."_

_"She's your girlfriend," Sherlock said plainly. "I rather think it's in her remit to care. "_

_John looked up at Sherlock. "And you don't. Is that it?"_

_"I didn't say that," Sherlock said. "It's not my place."_

_"I want it to be," John sighed._

_"I know," Sherlock countered. "But that has never been an option."_

 

 

London, January, 2009

 

His breath shudders as he sits upright.

He feels nervous. 

_Lieutenant Doctor John Hamish Watson, doesn't that sound posh?_

It sounds different, yes. 

It's something that is just John's. It's something out of Sherlock's control. 

Just over a year ago, they were an island. They knew everything about each other. 

They knew where they were going and then Sherlock saw it. 

He saw the change. He saw it and waited for John to see it, too. 

Sherlock has been relegated from control for longer than he cares to think about. 

That one change.

The butterfly effect.

 

 

_ London, June 1999 _

_"Mycroft seems to think one hour runs longer than sixty minutes-"_

_Sherlock stopped dead when he saw John's face._

_"What has happened?"_

_Silence._

_"John Watson, you answer me-"_

_Sherlock knelt in front of John, who was staring into space. He hadn't slept, Sherlock noticed._

_"My dad-" John turned his head to look at Sherlock._

_"He's dead," Sherlock said, plainly._

_John nodded slowly; an unconscious smile pulled at his lips and didn't reach his eyes. Sherlock frowned, feeling an immediate distaste to that face._

_Sherlock hovered his hands, wanting to touch, to comfort. In the end his hands fell to his sides._

_"What happened?"_

_John huffed out a breath of laughter and Sherlock's frown deepened._

_"I knew he wasn't happy."_

_Sherlock's eyes had widened. They were two moons of concern._

_"John-"_

_"You know? I knew and I didn't do anything about it. Nothing. I let him get unhappier and unhappier. I was always too wrapped up in my own problems. My own, insignificant-"_

_"You're not insignificant-"_

_"-adolescent problems. I let him die."_

_Sherlock was shaking his head. "John, this is not your fault."_

_John turned his head. His face was uncharacteristically pale and drawn._

_"Perhaps... But I could have helped."_

 

 

London, January 2008

 

One change. It seeps into your life. It stealthily wafts its way around you, like wild flowers in the grass. 

It drugs you into thinking differently. 

It influences your decisions. It influences your life. 

It influences your entire perspective.

John was always important. 

From the first moment. 

 

 

_ London, December 2005 _

_"I bloody hate Christmas," John sighed before sitting beside Sherlock on the porch._

_"Seasons Greetings, John," Sherlock laughed, not taking his eyes off the book he was reading._

_"Mum and Harry are-" John paused. "They're quite seasonal."_

_Sherlock stopped reading and narrowed his gaze._

_"They've fallen asleep in front of the television," John continued. "So, I'm all yours."_

_Sherlock smirked slightly and caught John's gaze._

_"Quite," Sherlock started. "Merry Christmas, John."_

_John gazed back and absently licked his lips. "Merry Christmas, Sherlock."_

 

 

London, January 2008

 

Sherlock sighs to the sky before rising to his feet. 

He walks in the direction of the imposing house, before deviating off and heading towards a fence, which over time has been covered by climbing flowers; Honeysuckle and Clematis Montana, hiding a secret. 

Sherlock pushes the flowers to the side and places his hand on the fence, he traces the barely perceptible symbols and smiles to himself. 

 

 

_ London, January 2006 _

_"Sherlock. Shut up and write my name."_

_Sherlock swayed before he answered. "I can't see what I'm doing."_

_John sighed before taking the penknife from Sherlock's shaking fingers._

_"Why do you have a penknife with you -"_

_"I-"_

_"Shut up. What will I write?"_

_Sherlock pushed John against the fence._

_"Okay. I'm John Watson... So.... 'JW' for me? annnnd 'pushy tosser' for you? Shall I write 'PT'?" John giggled, using the fence to keep himself upright._

_Sherlock sighed before speaking, something that came out as a moan and was breathed down the back of John's neck. "I'm Sherlock."_

_Laughter._

_"Yes. That's right. I remember now."_

_More laughter._

_"I may have cocked this up..."_

_Sherlock pressed against John, looking over his shoulder at what he had carved on the fence._

_"It looks'adequate," Sherlock breathed._

_"'JW and SH' will people think I wear the trousers?" John said, pressing his hands on the fence and giggling onto them._

_"Y'always wear trousers, John," Sherlock said, completely deadpan and a bit wobbly._

_John turned around and looked at his friend._

_"You really are an idiot when you're wankered," John smiled. "I quite like it."_

_Sherlock looked down at John and placed his hands on his shoulders, more to keep himself steady._

_"What else d'you quite like, John," Sherlock slurred, his hands falling to John's waist._

_"Oi! Handsy. Let's get you inside," John said, pulling Sherlock close by his waist._

 

 

London, January 2008

 

Sherlock closes his eyes and breathes in the smells of the flowers currently being pushed by his right hand. 

There's a soft caress of a breeze. 

The smell is almost overwhelming and he's just about ready to run.

 

 

_ London, December 2005 _

_"She puts you through too much," Sherlock said suddenly, closing his book._

_John glanced at Sherlock, closing his own book. "She's unaware of anything she does while she has been drinking."_

_Sherlock narrowed his gaze. "She doesn't understand how lucky she is."_

_John stared at Sherlock._

_"Her son is a doctor. A very good doctor," Sherlock started "And she has no idea how lucky she is."_

_"She knows," John said. "She does."_

_Sherlock shook his head. "She will know absolutely nothing until it's too late."_

_John frowned. "I don't understand."_

_"She will lose you," Sherlock began. "And it will be too late."_

_"Sherlock, I'm not going anywhere," John breathed._

_"Not yet."_

_John sighed. "Sherlock-"_

_"Sorry," Sherlock sighed._

_John gasped. "Excuse me?"_

_Sherlock smiled. "Shut up."_

_"Fine," John sighed. "No wonder Mary-"_

_Sherlock turned to face John. "She's an idiot."_

_"Of course you would say that," John sighed._

_Sherlock opened his mouth to speak and instead released a huff of breath._

_"She didn't like me," Sherlock eventually said. "She thought that I was up to no good with her precious doctor boyfriend."_

_"Sherlock-" John warned._

_"She didn't know what you really wanted," Sherlock continued._

_"Oh, and you do?" John smiled. "Go on then."_

_They gazed at each other and Sherlock eventually sighed. "Unfortunately I do know."_

_John's smile faded. "How long have you known?"_

_"One month. Almost two," Sherlock said, gazing at John._

_"Do you think I'm being an idiot?" John asked, softly._

_"Yes," Sherlock said. "But you have your reasons and I am in no position to stop you."_

_"You are in that very position," John said, his voice low._

_Sherlock swallowed and closed his eyes. "No. This is your chance."_

_John stared at Sherlock before placing a hand on Sherlock's arm._

_Sherlock opened his eyes before resting his own hand over Johns._

  

 

London, January 2008

 

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turns with a start.

That voice. 

The voice that emits a warmth so intense. 

He wants to bask in it. 

He wants to capture that warmth and immerse himself in it. 

"John."


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four 

- 

_ London, February 1998 _

_"Victor was older."_

_John turned to face Sherlock, they had been lying in silence for over fifteen minutes before Sherlock spoke._

_"Who's Victor?" John asked, curious._

_Silence._

_"He made things quieter," Sherlock said, hesitantly. "Before-"_

_John shifted awkwardly to look at Sherlock's face._

_"Do you want to talk about this, Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock broke his gaze with the sky and turned to face John._

_"No."_

_John smiled and Sherlock relaxed into the silence again._

 

 

London, January 2008

 

"John."

The breeze tears through them both. It fills the space between them. 

It fills nine months of disconnect. 

It fills it, but it doesn't fix it. 

"Are you going to come here? Or do I have to come over there and force you?" John smiles, his eyes are impossibly bright.

Sherlock looks up to the sky and closes his eyes briefly. The breeze is a flutter through his hair and reminds him of a dream. 

It's warm and he can feel grass between his fingers and flaxen hair pressed against his skin and strong hands on stronger thighs. There's the smell of wild flowers and they don't quite fit the season, but he's smiling and thats enough. They're damp from the lake and their clothes are drying in the cottage. They lie on the grass, touching and kissing. They lie for hours. They lie until an uncomfortable chill seeps over them and then they retire to the house and lie together in the darkness, warming under the other's touch.

He's startled out of his reverie by strong arms surrounding and consuming him. His face is pressed into sandy hair, shorter hair than he remembers. The smell is exactly the same; better, even. 

Sherlock moves his arms and wraps them around John, pulling him closer. 

The embrace comes to a natural end and John steps back.

"So..." 

Sherlock draws his eyebrows together. "Really, John? Small talk?"

John laughs and steps forward again.

"I don't know what to say. I haven't seen you - we haven't -" John sighs. "I missed you."

A silence stretches on and Sherlock is startled by a strong hand on his arm.

"Sherlock?" John's eyes are bright, eager and something different.

"You look different," Sherlock says, plainly.

John laughs and Sherlock's eyes flutter closed.

"I can go if you don't like what you see-" John smiles, turning to leave.

"Oh, don't be an idiot." 

John's smile fades slightly. "Sherlock, are you going to be this insufferable, really?" 

Sherlock's gaze falls to John, they lock eyes for the first time. The first time in nine months.

"I've always been insufferable."

There is silence for three beats.

Sherlock smiles.

"You absolute tosser," John says, shaking his head.

"Yes. Well, that hasn't changed. Good." 

Laughter rips through John like an awakening. He clutches to his side and his eyes close. 

He's taking gulps of air.

Sherlock is standing, watching and observing. 

 _This is pure elation_ , he thinks. 

John hasn't changed. John still smiles like it's his first smile. The laughter is in his eyes and it's contagious. 

Sherlock smiles and allows laughter to overwhelm him. 

As the laughter dies they sit on the grass.

 

 

_ London, February 1998 _

_"He was my teacher."_

_John opened his eyes to the blinding sun._

_"Nothing indecent. Mycroft - He didn't trust him."_

_John shifted awkwardly to look at Sherlock._

_"Mycroft was - he was-" Sherlock laughed. "He was my only friend."_

_John listened in silence. Sherlock rarely divulged that much._

_"He was my only friend, before Victor."_

_John turned on his side to face Sherlock._

_"He was so full of spirit and energy, the very opposite to me in most ways. Through his classes I found we had some subjects in common, and it was through his classes that I came to depend on him," Sherlock sighed. "It was my own mistake. I took to him, like a moth to a flame, if I'm to use such analogies. He was intelligent and older and I trusted him while Mycroft was at university."_

_Sherlock closed his eyes. John placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. There was something so vulnerable about him, in that moment. John moved closer and pulled him to his chest. Sherlock breathed out his relief and then pulled back._

_"One day we were talking about what subjects I should concentrate on. It was stupid. It was entirely my own fault. We were just talking. Nothing ever happened. It was companionship. I remember him tensing and relaxing in one motion. His hand came to rest on my head and he lightly stroked my hair. It was-" Sherlock breathed deeply. "Mycroft saw us. He accused Victor of taking advantage of me. He accused him - he accused him of molesting me. Isn't that ridiculous? He made sure that Victor never came back. He made sure of it. Mycroft then took his place and helped with classes and Victor never did come back."_

_"How much older was he, Sherlock?" John said, looking into Sherlock's eyes._

_"He was twenty three. He was nine years my senior," Sherlock laughed. "It seems ridiculous. Now I would just tell Mycroft to piss off."_

_"Does Mycroft think the same of me?" John said, quietly._

_"He did. I told him what you wanted him to know."_

_John's eyes widened. "You did?"_

_Sherlock sighed. "I don't like to repeat myself, John."_

_Laughter._

_"I - well, yes. I didn't think you would. I thought it wasn't important," John said, lightly stroking Sherlock's back._

_"You are important." Sherlock breathed._

 

 

London, January 2008

 

"It feels like forever since we've done this," John says, smiling. 

"Almost ten months, John. Much too long," Sherlock responds, eyes closed and speaking to the sky.

"Yes. I've missed you," John says, hesitantly. "It was tough out there, but - well, I-"

"John."

"Sorry - I mean, I just need to tell you something," John turns to face Sherlock. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock opens his eyes and turns to mirror John.

"I've been made a Captain," John says. "Well, not officially. But once I'm back I will be and I - that's what I wanted to tell you."

Sherlock is gazing at him. There's an indifference in his stare, but John knows it as something else. 

It's contempt.

"You're going back?"

John laughs nervously. "Of course I am, Sherlock."

Sherlock turns away.

"Jesus, Sherlock," John sighs. "You didn't think that this was a one year stint and then I would be back to play doctor, did you?"

Sherlock lets out a huff of air.

"Sherlock?" John says, in an almost whisper.

"I don't know what I thought," Sherlock hisses. "I don't know what - I needed you. You don't understand."

"I - I don't understand? Sherlock, I have been quite vocal in how much I missed you. I don't say it just to be heard. I say it because I fucking missed you, every day. I'm going back because I have to. For me. For the men and women out there. For-" 

"For Bill?" Sherlock snaps.

"For you!" John very nearly shouts.

Sherlock glares at the sky in silence.

"What has Bill got to do with this? Where did that come from?" John says, panicking. "Sherlock - fucking - Holmes. Don't you dare say something like that and expect me to forget about it and move on."  

Silence stretches on.

"I can't stop you," Sherlock whispers. "I want to stop you and I can't. I want you to want to stay and you don't. I have no control and I hate that. I hate it."

John reaches out his hand and places it on Sherlock's chest, he can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. Sherlock's breath is shuddering. He moves his own hand and lays it on top of John's and squeezes gently.

"Remember what I said?" John whispers.

Sherlock turns to face him and shakes his head.

John laughs softly.

"Yes you do," John sighs. "I said that I need you to be here for me. I said that I need you to be okay with this. Fuck everyone else."

"I remember," Sherlock says, closing his eyes.

 

 

_ London, March 2007 _

_"I didn't really think it through," John said. "Basic Training is a cock."_

_Sherlock huffed out a feeble laugh._

_"Don't laugh. I'm useless. How did I think I could do this?"_

_Sherlock turns on his side to face John, who is already staring at him intently._

_"You can do anything," Sherlock said, his voice serious. "You are not useless. You idiot."_

_John laughed before opening and closing his mouth, words suddenly difficult._

_Silence._

_"You'll be here?" John said, weakly._

_"John, I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock said, eyes bright and saying a lot more than he ever could._

_"Good. I need you to be okay with this," John breathed._

_"I am," Sherlock replied, instantly. "Just come home."_

 

 

London, January 2008

 

"Then please," John's voice is pleading. "Please just trust me."

Sherlock sighs and squeezes John's hand once before he lets go and sits upright. 

John follows.

"I trust you infinitely," Sherlock says. "I always will. You're indispensable."

"I do quite enjoy being necessary to you," John says, smiling. "Although, God knows why I deserve it."

"You deserve everything," Sherlock says, his voice serious. "When do you leave?"

"Five days," John says, searching for Sherlock's gaze. "Five. Whole. Days."

Sherlock turns his head and smiles.

"I knew you hadn't lost that," John says, nodding at Sherlock's smile.

"Do I have to call you Captain Watson?" Sherlock says, faking a grimace.

"I like to think I have the air of someone who demands respect," John says, pretending to think. "Yes, you simply must."

"Five days. That's rather long for us. I might get bored of you," Sherlock says with a grin.

"If you do, I'm never going on leave again," John says, smiling.

Sherlock's grin fades.

"Sherlock," John sighs. "I'm joking. Stop being a pillock."

Silence stretches on and it's comfortable. There's a light breeze and they simply sit with each other. Their breathing fills the silences amidst the soft wind.

"We've known each other for a long time, haven't we?" John muses.

"John, you know I hate blatancy," Sherlock sighs.

"You haven't got bored of me yet," John says, laughter in his voice.

"I rather don't think I ever will," Sherlock says, plainly, but smiling.

John lies back on the grass and closes his eyes. 

He feels Sherlock lie beside him. 

A familiar hand takes his own.

 

 

_ Sussex, July 2006 _

_"It's easy, Sherlock," John said, exasperated. "Just throw the damn ball."_

_"This is ridiculous, John," Sherlock said, sighing and staring at the rugby ball that was sitting at his feet. "How can people possibly enjoy being thrashed about in a field, with their soul aim being to thrash other people about, holding that."_

_Sherlock stared pointedly at the ground where the offending apparatus lay, innocently._

_"It's fun!" John said, eyes bright and eager._

_Sherlock stared at him blankly._

_"If you don't throw the ball then I'm going to mindlessly thrash you about," John said, smiling but serious._

_Sherlock drew his eyebrows together. "I'm not succumbing to this trivial game, John."_

_"I'll give you five seconds to throw the ball," John warned._

_"John-"_

_"Five."_

_"Oh, for Christ's sake. Don't be so childish-"_

_"Four."_

_"You do realise you're counting down. You gave me five seconds. You didn't-"_

_"Three."_

_"-say, 'I'll countdown from five.'"_

_"Two."_

_"Your system is flawed, John."_

_"One."_

_John smiled wickedly before he ran and took hold of Sherlock, pulling them both to the ground._

_He straddled Sherlock's thighs and pinned him in place._

_"Do you concede?" John asked, panting slightly._

_Sherlock frowned up at him._

_"I don't like to repeat myself, Sherlock," John said, laughing as he attempted his best Sherlock impression._

_Sherlock's face softened and he smiled._

_Silence stretched on and something shifted in John's mind. He tried to ignore it. He tried to forget it. In the end he did neither. He smiled down at Sherlock, before placing a light kiss to his forehead and stretching off him, to lie by his side. Sherlock turned to lie facing him._

_"What an exhausting and tedious sport," Sherlock said, sighing._

_John smiled._

  

London, January 2008

 

"I'm bloody knackered," John says, turning on his side.

Sherlock opens his eyes and stares at John. He doesn't let go of his hand.

"I should go and see Harry," John says, sighing. "She'll hate that I came here first."

Sherlock stares in silence.

"Harry and Clara are getting married," John says. "I'm sure that's the direction the conversation will take."

Sherlock closes his eyes and opens them slowly.

"How can I go, especially when you're in such top conversational form?" John says, shaking his head and smiling.

"I missed you," Sherlock says, quietly.

John's eyes widen.

"What?" Sherlock says, hesitantly.

"You've never said that before," John says, eyes wide.

"I've implied it many times, John."

John frowns. "And I'm saying, you've never said it before." 

"I'm saying it now," Sherlock says, plainly.

"Yes." John laughs.

 

 

_ London, March 2003 _

_"Why did you never go back to him?"_

_Sherlock stirred beside John. "Hmm?"_

_"Sherlock," John started. "I know you heard."_

_Sherlock sighed audibly. "John, what on earth are you mumbling about?"_

_"Victor?" John said, suddenly._

_Sherlock turned to face John. "What about him?"_

_"When you turned sixteen or eighteen," John started. "Why didn't you go back to him?"_

_"John," Sherlock warned._

_"I know, it's not my place," John said._

_"No, John," Sherlock stared. "That's not the issue."_

_They stared at each other and John shifted to sit facing Sherlock. Sherlock followed wordlessly._

_"He was important to you," John said, staring at Sherlock._

_"He was my teacher," Sherlock smiled. "He was important to my education."_

_John frowned. "Sherlock-"_

_"John, he was useful to me. He was there when Mycroft left for university. He was interesting," Sherlock sighed. "He was replaceable."_

_"Replaceable?" John mused._

_Sherlock narrowed his gaze. "Utterly."_

_"Sherlock, are you seriously telling me that it doesn't bother you?" John asked._

_"Precisely, John," Sherlock said, looking at him intently._

_"Do you miss him?" John said softly._

_Sherlock smiled. "No."_

_"Why not?" John asked._

_"Oh John, for goodness sake," Sherlock said. "Must you persist with this drivel?"_

_"I'm curious," John said, frowning. "People aren't just replaceable."_

_"John-" Sherlock started._

_"Am I replaceable?" John said, glaring at Sherlock._

_"John-" Sherlock started, wide-eyed. "You couldn't possibly think that."_

_John continued to glare at Sherlock and silence stretched between them._

_"You're-" Sherlock began. "You're a conductor of light."_

_"A conductor of light," John said, confused. "I don't understand."_

_"Nor did I," Sherlock said, gazing intently at John._


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

 

London, October 2009

 

Sherlock stares at the water dispenser. 

The bubbles are drifting up and down, periodically, as people walk past. 

If Sherlock was paying attention he would read those people. 

He would look at those people and see lives lived, sleepless nights and relationships lost.

Sherlock doesn't read these people. Sherlock stares at the water dispenser in silence.

His brain is in overdrive. It's manic. 

 _Like a battlefield_ , he thinks. 

He shudders slightly, in his uncomfortable plastic seat, at such a thought.

The bubbles drift down and float back to the top. 

His fingers are dancing on his thighs.

 

 

_ London, January 2008 _

_Sherlock was standing at Baker Street station in a suit._

_He was leaning against a wall and watching the people pass by in their droves._

_He wasn't reading them._

_For the first time, that he could remember, he was looking for one face in a crowd. His eyes searched through the floods of people that would disperse and then reappear, over and over again._

_Different people. Different lives._

_He was waiting for John._

_The people passed and few did chance a glance towards the mysterious, handsome-in-a-strange-way, man, leaning against a wall and staring into space, seemingly oblivious to the world._

_"John!" Sherlock's voice sounded in the crowd._

_A few people jumped as his baritone tore through their own monotony._

_Through the crowd John saw Sherlock's towering figure at its tallest, he was stretching to see him._

_John smiled when he reached him and looked up to meet his bright gaze._

_"Baker Street, Sherlock?" John laughed. "Can you afford this?"_

_Sherlock gave him a disparaging look._

_"Okay," John sighed. "Where's this palace?"_

_Sherlock grinned and set off, among the crowd, leading John, down the road and across to his new flat._

_John stood on the footpath and gazed up at the flat. He smiled to himself. Sherlock was watching him intently._

_"It's amazing, Sherlock," John mused._

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow._

_"You haven't even seen inside."_

_John reached out and placed a hand on Sherlock's arm._

_"Go on then," John said._

_Sherlock grinned._

 

 

London, October 2009

 

A mother and her child sit opposite Sherlock. The little boy is writhing and smiling, trying to capture Sherlock's gaze. Sherlock pays no attention, his focus is on the child's mother. She's staring at the floor, as the child squirms in her arms. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are red. Her hair is tied loosely and a strand falls across her face. She looks vacant. 

Sherlock looks up to the ceiling and thinks about how he looks.

Does he look vacant?

Sherlock smiles to himself, but it quickly fades.

The woman stares at him and immediately looks away when Sherlock holds her gaze. 

She blushes.

Sherlock frowns.

A nurse appears in the corridor.

"Mrs. Saunders, he's awake," He says, smiling weakly.

The woman stands and looks at Sherlock. 

She smiles curtly. 

Sherlock nods and looks away.

"Come on, Nathan. Let's go and see Daddy," She says, bending to pick the toddler up.

The child smiles in his mother's arms.

He waves to Sherlock as they disappear down the corridor.

 

 

_ London, February, 2008 _

_"Can you afford this, Sherlock?" John said, looking bewildered, as he stood in the doorway._

_Sherlock placed a hand on the back of John's neck and leaned in._

_"Mrs. Hudson owes me a favour," Sherlock said, gently. "I'm also taking private cases."_

_John whirled around and looked at Sherlock._

_"You what?" John startled._

_Sherlock frowned._

_"No - I mean, why?" John interjected quickly, shaking his head._

_"It's financially secure," Sherlock said, still frowning._

_John glared at him._

_Silence stretched on._

_"Do you need all of this space?" John said, eventually, smiling brightly._

_"No."_

_"You could maybe get somewhere cheaper?" John said, still smiling._

_"I can afford it. I don't need you to mollycoddle me, John."_

_"I'm not mollycoddling you," John winced. "I don't want you to be in over your head. That's all."_

_"I told you," Sherlock sighed. "I'm taking private cases. I have a website."_

_John smiled up at Sherlock who rolled his eyes in return._

_"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" John said, still smiling. "You made a decision that would require independent thought and effort, in order to make your life better?"_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes again._

_"You sound like an idiot," Sherlock said. He noted John's reaction. "Oh, don't be like that. You know what I mean."_

_John folded his arms and looked up at Sherlock._

_"I can't depend on them any longer," Sherlock said. "You're not surprised. We always talked about escaping. You did it."_

_"Speaking of-" John sighed._

_Sherlock closed his eyes._

_"When?"_

_"You know when, Sherlock," John said, softly. "I leave tomorrow."_

_"It will never be enough," Sherlock said, avoiding John's gaze._

_John moved in closer to Sherlock and pressed a light kiss to his lips, and then pulled away._

_"John," Sherlock whispered, his eyes still closed._

_"Another ten months," John said, smiling. "Then I'll be back to make sure you haven't burned this place to the ground."_

_Sherlock smiled back, weakly._

 

 

London, October 2009

 

Sherlock taps his feet on the floor.

The soft _pat pat pat_ reverberates throughout the empty corridor.

_Looks at his watch. Notes the time. Closes his eyes._

His eyes shoot open as the doors swing open. 

A surgeon walks past him, the bubbles in the water dispenser greet the new face cheerily. 

The surgeon walks on, avoids Sherlock's gaze and disappears through the doors at the end of the corridor.

 

 

L _ondon, January 2006_

_"Remind me to never drink again," John groaned._

_Sherlock's lips quirked as he lay beside John on the grass._

_"Did we really drink a bottle of Whiskey?" John went on. "Because I can't do that again... Can I?"_

_Sherlock made a slight sound of almost interest._

_"Do the hospitals allow that?" John mused. "I don't think they do."_

_"John," Sherlock sighed._

_John turned on his side to face Sherlock._

_"What?" He asked, curious._

_"I don't care," Sherlock said, impassively. "I have a splitting headache and you're not doing much to quell it. In fact, you're currently making it worse with your incessant irrelevancies."_

_John stared at his horizontal friend and smiled._

_"It was a good night, though," John grinned. "I think."_

_Sherlock smiled and it quickly faded away, not unnoticed by John._

_"I like drunk you," John mused. "You're an idiot."_

_Sherlock's eyes shot open and he turned on his side to mirror John._

_John, propped up by his elbow, beamed down at him._

_"I'm an idiot?" Sherlock said. "You just called me an idiot."_

_"Yes," John laughed. "I also said that I like drunk you."_

_"I am not an idiot, John," Sherlock scolded._

_"No," John said, shaking his head. "You're not."_

_John stared down at Sherlock and Sherlock gazed back._

_The silence was almost overwhelming._

_John lay back on the grass. Their faces were incredibly close and Sherlock's breath was a huff against John's cheek. John smiled and Sherlock's face was as blank as John had ever seen it._

_John licked his lips and Sherlock closed his eyes._

_"You did this last night," Sherlock said, suddenly._

_"Excuse me?" John startled._

_Sherlock opened his eyes slowly._

_"You kissed me," Sherlock frowned._

_John blinked three times._

_"No I didn't," John smiled. "I kissed your forehead."_

_Sherlock frowned again._

_"I am attached to that, you know?" Sherlock said, sounding exasperated. "I could still feel it."_

_John stared at him in silence._

_"Just because it wasn't on my lips doesn't mean that you didn't kiss me," Sherlock said, unmoving._

_John continued to stare._

_"I just wanted to inform you," Sherlock said. "You did this last night."_

_"I - okay," John stuttered. "Sherlock, I'm not currently kissing you."_

_Sherlock's sigh was audible._

_"You were thinking about it," Sherlock said, sounding bored._

_"You can read minds now, yeah?" John teased._

_"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Sherlock muttered. "I could see. Your eyes. Your breathing. You were showing clear signs of arousal and you were going to kiss me."_

_John stared at him._

_"I - would that be okay?" John said, softly._

_Sherlock smiled before closing his eyes again._

  

 

London, October 17, 2009

 

Sherlock's eyes snap open as the doors sound down the corridor.

Sherlock listens to the even steps. 

_Heels. Woman. Nervous._

The footsteps pause and Sherlock lets out a breath.

He closes his eyes.

The steps draw nearer.

"Hello Harriet," Sherlock says.

He opens his eyes to the young woman standing before him.

She's smiling, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Sherlock remembers that look, he thinks of John. 

 _She is so very like John_ , he thinks.

"Sherlock," She says curtly and sits across the corridor from him.

Silence stretches on and Sherlock stares at the wall behind Harriet's head.

"Have you seen him?" She asks, sounding concerned.

"No."

"When can we see him?" She asks, softly.

"Anytime, I imagine," Sherlock says, unmoving. "I'm waiting."

"What the hell are you waiting for?" She says, anger in her voice. "He's alone."

"I'm aware," Sherlock says, distractedly.

Harriet frowns before she stands.

"Are you really this much of a bastard?" Harriet asks, shaking her head.

Sherlock snorts.

"He's alone. After being shot," Harriet says, disbelieving and angry. "Don't you care at all?"

Sherlock's eyes snap to her and narrow.

"I care about John, infinitely," Sherlock says softly, frowning. "I have for a long time."

Harriet glares at him. "You obviously don't care enough when you'd rather sit out here than be with him." 

"And you care?" Sherlock asks, narrowing his gaze. "Where is that mother of yours, anyway?"

Harriet's eyes widen. "She - she isn't well."

Sherlock snorts again. "Are you _well_ , Harriet?"

Silence stretches on.

"I'm thinking about what I'll say," Sherlock says, eventually. "I'm thinking about how I can possibly tell him what I have to tell him. I'm thinking about running. I won't run. But I'll think about it. Now, if you please, leave me alone. Go see him. Tell him I'm here, if you like. I'm not going anywhere."

Harriet stares at him, she opens her mouth twice before speaking.

"He- he'll be okay," She says, finally. "He's a proud bugger."

"I know," Sherlock says, looking at the floor and then up at her. "Do get a cup of coffee before you see him. Perhaps splash some water on your face."

Harriet smiles weakly and walks down the corridor.

  

 

_ London, October 14 2009 _

_“Hello?” Sherlock answered, distantly._

_“Mr. Holmes. This is Lieutenant Colonel Rice. I’m calling to-”_

_The new voice was cut off abruptly as Sherlock interjected. “John.”_

_“Mr. Holmes. Captain Watson has been shot."_

_There was silence for three beats._

_"Yes," Sherlock said, simply._

_A moments silence._

_"He was on ground, on patrol with another from our company. A close friend of his, Lieutenant Bill Murray, has died in action and Captain Watson has been injured. You were his first contact-”_

_“Is he okay?” Sherlock interrupted._

_“Mr. Holmes, I cannot-”_

_“Is. He. Okay?” Sherlock persisted._

_“Captain Watson is alive. He’s resting in hospital and will be invalided home this coming weekend. He's to be sent to King Edward VII's Hospital. As far as we’re concerned you are his family. Is that clear?”_

_Silence stretched on._

_“Mr. Holmes, I said, is that-”_

_“Yes, I understand. Is he conscious? May I speak to him?”_

_“He is currently under our protection. You will speak to him when he returns home. He’s very shaken, Mr. Holmes. Rehabilitation will take place when he’s back in London. Is that clear?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Silence._

_“Mr. Holmes?”_

_“Yes?” Sherlock answered, quietly._

_“I’m sorry. He will be home on Saturday morning. You should count your lucky stars that he is returning home and alive. It was, well, it was one of the closest incidents we’ve had. He’ll be alarmed about Bill, too. Poor sod. Tell Johnny we’ll miss him.”_

_“Yes," Sherlock said, barely audible. "I will make sure of it."_

 

 

London, October 17 2009

 

Sherlock stands.

The corridor is silent and his mind is whirring.

Like a machine.

Whirring and alive.

Alive because of the whirring.

He sighs into his hands and then stands straight, he pulls his coat around him.

He walks down the corridor and stands outside a door.

 

 

_ London, January 2006 _

_John leaned in and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, softly._

_Sherlock opened his eyes and pulled back._

_"What's wrong?" John asked, concerned._

_Sherlock stared at him and smiled._

_"Nothing," Sherlock mused. "Nothing at all, John."_

_John smiled and leaned in again, pressing his lips to Sherlock's more firmly._

_Sherlock moaned into the kiss._

_Their tongues touched for the first time and Sherlock sucked lightly, John smiled against his lips and pressed against Sherlock, with intent._

_The kiss came to a natural end and Sherlock gazed at John._

_It was utterly unchanged._

_Sherlock gazed how he had always gazed. John smiled as he had always smiled._

_Yet, Sherlock's lips where redder and his cheeks were flushed and his mind felt calmer, more sentient and he closed his eyes with the memory of John's lips fizzing around his head with a pleasant tingle._  

 

 

London, October 17 2009

 

Sherlock lets out a breath. 

He reaches for the door and slowly opens it.

The room is dark. It's also silent, safe from the soft whirring and beeping of various machines.

Harriet is long gone.

Sherlock moves into the room and goes to sit on the chair to the side of the hospital bed.

John is asleep.

Sherlock doesn't wake him. 

Sherlock takes off his coat, sits on the chair and watches John sleep. 

He plans to watch the rise and fall of John's chest until sunrise.

He does.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

- 

London, October 2009

 

_It's important to open up a patient and stop the bleeding._

_For every three-minute delay in getting a trauma patient to a hospital, mortality goes up one percent._

John opens his eyes to the dim room.

A light flashes in his mind and he remembers.

_Once you were in the operating room, temperature became a critical issue._

_When you went into shock, your body temperature dropped, if it got below about 35 degrees Celsius, your blood would not have coagulated properly._

_You were put on a warming blanket, and the fluids and gases used during the surgery were also kept warm._

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe evenly.

_Once the bullet entered your body, it not only damaged the tissue and bone that it hit, but created a "blast effect" that harmed surrounding tissue._

_It somehow missed your rib, clavicle, scapula, and shoulder socket._

_Days in hospital, a week at most._

_Discharged._

_Months of physiotherapy._

_Eventual recovery._

He opens his eyes to begin his morning again.

_Military career?_

He isn't sure what he thought he would see. He isn't sure about a lot of things.

Sherlock's coat lies across the armchair beside his bed.

John smiles, but it quickly fades as his surroundings thunder into his consciousness.

_Finished._

 

 

_ London, April 1998 _

_"Are we friends?" John asked, turning on his side to face Sherlock. "I like to think we're friends."_

_Sherlock stared at him through narrowed eyes._

_"Because I've spent more time with you over the past four months than I have with anyone," John said, smiling. "So, are we friends?"_

_Sherlock glared. "I guess we are. Yes."_

_John grinned._

_"Good. Because I haven't put up with your shit for nothing," John said, turning to lie on his back again._

_Sherlock stared at him blankly._

 

 

London, October 2009

 

The incessant sounds of the machines are making him restless.

He remembers the sound.

Deafening and consuming.

Bill was gone, or close - definitely close to gone. 

Then the hit. 

John closes his eyes.

 

 

_ Afghanistan, April 2008 _

_"Rotten luck, Johnny."_

_John sighed as they retreated back to the communal living room._

_"She always does that," John said, exasperated. "She knows what she's doing."_

_John fell into the sofa and picked up one of the two discarded Play Station controllers._

_"She's your sister, mate. Of course she knows what she's doing. She wants to talk to you," Bill said, smiling._

_John glared at him._

_"What I'm trying to say-" Bill laughed. "She doesn't get that you might want to- um. Talk to him. More. Than her."_

_Bill picked up the other controller and continued._

_"I mean, she does know about you two?"_

_John closed his eyes._

_"She knows," John sighed. "She doesn't get that that man has been my fucking family, for eight years."_

_"She's your family, mate," Bill said, quietly. "Remember that. Yeah?"_

_John set down the controller and turned to Bill._

_"She is, yeah," John said. "But she has never acted like it. Ever. Sherlock is - he's - he's a constant."_

_"I get that, mate. But Sherlock isn't tied to you. Not like Harry. Not like that mother of yours. It's not the same."_

_"You're right," John answered. "He's more important."_

_Bill began to shake his head and allowed himself to smile._

_"You're hopeless."_

_John gazed at the stilled and silenced football players on the small television screen._

_"Funny. Mum and Harry say that," John said, almost smiling._

_"I meant it. Rotten luck. I know you wanted to speak to him," Bill smiled. "What on God's green earth would you two say?"_

_John grinned_

_"Dirty bugger."_

_"You implied it," John laughed._

_"True," Bill said, smiling. "They monitor those calls. Mutual telephone wanks are frowned upon. So I'm told."_

_"Says the biggest wanker here."_

_"For Queen and country, John," Bill smiled and mocked a bow. "For Queen-and-bloody-country."_

 

 

London, October 2009

 

John opens his eyes and stares at the coat which has been draped unceremoniously over the chair beside his bed.

He sighs and closes his eyes, again, for three beats.

 

 

_ Afghanistan, April 2007 _

_Bill was the best out of the lot. He was tall and broad and he had wide shoulders and a wider grin. He and John sat beside each other on that first evening._

_Bill had a girlfriend back home, Alice was her name._

_John thought it was a nice name._

_Bill asked if John had a girlfriend. Bill was smiling. A wide grin that was as infectious as another smile John knew. It wasn't the same. But it was comforting._

_Bill opened his mouth to speak and John looked away, he heard a breathy "oh" from the man beside him._

_John's heart was thrumming in his chest, he could feel it in his ears._

_He wanted to run. He wasn't that. He didn't want to be known as that._

_"What's his name?" Bill asked, still smiling._  

 

 

London, October 2009

 

Sherlock is here, he thinks. Sherlock is here.

He repeats the thought like an incantation.

He allows himself one fleeting smile, but lets it fade almost as quickly.

 

 

_ Sussex, July 2006 _

_The water felt like needles._

_That's what John thought._

_Needles and their tiny pin-pricks dancing over his skin and pulling his flesh up and out into goosebumps._

_A familiar hand fell to his forearm, shaking him out of his thoughts._

_"John, I don't like it."_

_John laughed as shivers wracked through his body._

_"You'll get used to the cold," John clattered. "At least it's sunny."_

_Sherlock glared at him._

_"You know," John said, his voice low. "I can't believe you have never swam in this lake. It's right beside the cottage."_

_Sherlock was silent._

_"Which is beautiful, by the way," John continued. "A summer here seems much more relaxing than one with Harry. So, thank you."_

_"I can't accept your thanks seriously when we're both wet and shivering," Sherlock said, deadpan._

_John laughed. "Fair dos."_

_"Swimming in a lake alone has never crossed my mind," Sherlock said._

_John dipped his shoulders under the water, as he listened intently._

_"It's not too intolerable with another person."_

_John smiled. "Thanks."_

_"It's pretty horrid," Sherlock groaned. "But tolerable. I guess. Because of you."_

_John stared at Sherlock and the light of the setting sun danced across his face like waves lapping at your toes as you stand on the shore._

_He spoke and the waves crashed across his pale skin._

_"Because of me," John repeated. "That is tolerable."_

_Sherlock's lip quirked up in an almost-smile._

_"Very," Sherlock answered. "Although I would very much like to go back to the cottage and dry off."_

_"Then we shall," John said, dipping his shoulders once more._

_"You're content here," Sherlock stated, plainly._

_"I am," John answered, his head lolling to the side and a soft smile on his face._

_"I'll go back," Sherlock announced. "You stay."_

_John opened his eyes and frowned. "No, I'll walk back with you."_

_"John, really, It's no bother," Sherlock said._

_"I want to walk back with you."_

_They stared at each other and Sherlock nodded_.

 

 

London, October 2009

 

John opens his eyes and releases a ragged breath.

He needs to see him.

He needs him.

The throbbing in his shoulder comes in sharp peaks and he closes his eyes.

 

 

_ Sussex, July 2006 _

_"I think those trousers are a write-off, Sherlock," John said, as Sherlock held his sodden trousers in his lap with a look of despair._

_"I think you're right," Sherlock answered, off-handedly._

_"You do have another pair with you, yeah?" John said, from the kitchen._

_"Two other pairs," Sherlock said, quietly. "I liked these ones."_

_"They all look the same," John called. "Would you like a cuppa?"_

_Sherlock frowned at the trousers in his hands._

_"Just tea for me, thanks," Sherlock answered._

_John laughed as he walked back into the living room._

_"That's what I asked, you idiot," John said, smiling. "I did like those, though. Even if your other trousers are exactly the same and as ridiculously expensive. Remind me to teach you the wonders of M &S."_

_Sherlock glared at the garment._

_"I know," Sherlock said, quietly._

_"What do you know?" John said, as he walked back to the kitchen._

_"That you liked them," Sherlock whispered._

_John stopped before the kitchen and turned back._

_Sherlock frowned at the trousers as they lay pathetically across his lap, the wetness seeped through and they stuck to his bare legs._

_John smiled before walking into the kitchen_.

 

 

London, October 2009

 

Time appears to stutter in this place.

He feels the unabashed need for Sherlock rattle through him. 

It takes the breath from his lungs a little and his heart rate is rapid and unforgiving.

John opens his eyes and stares at the coat which lies pathetically across the armchair.

  

 

_ London, December 2006 _

_"Don't be an idiot, John," Sherlock snapped._

_John glared at Sherlock as he held the coat in his hands._

_"What use would I have for that?" Sherlock spat as he stared at the coat which John held with an acute awareness._

_He held it like it was a relic._

_Sherlock snorted._

_"I liked it," John said, finally. "Thought it would suit you."_

_Sherlock frowned and then relented. "How so?"_

_John smiled. "Dark and angular."_

_Sherlock frowned again._

_"And it's long, so it will protect those precious suits of yours."_

_Sherlock smiled. "I will try it on."_

_John grinned triumphantly and held the coat out and eased Sherlock into it._

_"Not bad," Sherlock said as he looked at himself and John in the mirror._

_"Not bad?" John repeated. "You look amazing."_

_Sherlock smiled and turned, facing John. "Thank you, John."_

_"Don't bring it to the lake," John said, as he gazed up at Sherlock and grinned. "Pay me back in kind."_

_Sherlock's features shifted._

_John gave him a quizzical look. "What is it?"_

_"Nothing."_

_John frowned this time. "Sherlock?"_

_"You're leaving, eventually."_

_John smiled. "Yes. But I'm also coming back."_

_"That isn't a certainty," Sherlock said, looking away._

_"It is if I have anything to do with it," John said. "But, you're right."_

_"Hmm - I don't like saying goodbye to you," Sherlock said, eventually._

_"Then don't," John said. "Maybe just a 'see you later'."_

_Sherlock snorted. "Don't be an idiot, John."_

_"I should really keep a tally," John sighed._

_Sherlock frowned._

_"-Of every time you call me an idiot," John smiled. "It would go on forever."_

_"Forever is an impossible concept," Sherlock said, a hint of a smile in his tone._

_"I wouldn't say that," John said, reaching out a hand and tracing a small circle on Sherlock's wrist with his index finger._

_Sherlock closed his eyes. "I think a 'see you later' would suffice."_

_John smiled and pulled his hand back._

_Sherlock found his gaze. "Don't go far off, not even for a day, because - because I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you. As in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep."_

_Sherlock's eyes were distant._

_John stared up at him. "What the bloody hell was that?"_

_"Appropriate," Sherlock answered_.

 

 

London, October 2009

 

John closes his eyes and sighs.

Appropriate.

John now knows where those words came from and smiles at the thought that Sherlock saved them. Perhaps for some unsavoury reason. But, he uttered them to John when a moment mattered. They were appropriate. Perhaps long deleted now. But appropriate then.

John's eyes snap open when he hears the door creek.

“Captain Watson,” The unmistakable baritone almost whispers.

John gazes at the figure in the doorway and smiles.

“Mr. Holmes.”

Silence stretches on and Sherlock moves into the room.

“You look terrible,” Sherlock says, blandly.

“You don’t look like an oil painting yourself," John counters, weakly. "Well, actually-”

Sherlock stares at him with wide eyes.

“Sherlock, I’m fine,” John says, finally, after silence consumed them again.

“I know, I-” Sherlock pauses, minutely. 

“Sherlock?” John says, worried. “I haven’t known you to be more than wholly articulate. Come here.”

Sherlock joins John at his bedside and sits forward, feeling a compelling urge to be closer. He doesn't touch. His hands lie uselessly on his lap.

“When I got that phone call, I thought – For one moment I thought you were gone,” Sherlock says, wide eyed. "Once your Lieutenant Colonel began to explain I knew immediately that you were alive. But that one moment - I never want to feel that kind of fear again."

“I’m here-” John tries, still smiling.

“I know you’re here!" Sherlock says, raising his voice slightly. "I thought you were dead. You don’t understand. I shouldn’t have reacted. I’m not accustomed to this.”

“Sherlock, I don’t know what you want me to say,” John says, trying to sound soothing, but the look in Sherlock's eyes makes him panic. 

His hands begin to tremble.

“I want you to say that you’ll move to Baker Street with me.”

John glares at him. “Sherlock...”

“Where else will you go? Army accommodations until you get back on your feet? Harriet's? Nonsense. You’re moving in with me.”

John closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You want to live with an invalid?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. You’re not an invalid. Your shoulder will heal and that limp is partly psychosomatic.” Sherlock says, with a wave of his hand, diminishing its importance.

“How did you-” John says, sounding awed.

“Your walking stick; it’s across the room. You would place it at the end of the bed if you needed it to walk all of the time.” Sherlock says. "Obvious."

“That’s amazing-”

Silence stretches on for a bit; Sherlock gazes at John.

“John, please, will you move to Baker Street with me?” Sherlock's voice is small.

John sighs before speaking. “I don’t want you to have to look after me, because you will have to, if I move in with you, when they release me. I will be in your care.”

“You’re better in my care,” Sherlock says immediately.

“Sherlock, don’t-”

Sherlock sighs. “John, I didn’t think this would be a discussion. I was your next of kin for Christ’s sake!”

John finds Sherlock's gaze and smiles weakly.

“Sherlock, you’re my best friend," John swallows. "You’re my only friend. I can’t jeopardise that, just for a place to sleep at night.”

"You know about Bill," Sherlock says distractedly.

"Of course I do," John says, shaking his head. "I was there, remember."

They stare at each other and John smiles reassuringly.

"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock says, softly.

"Are you?" John asks, smiling slightly.

Sherlock's eyes widen and then his features relax, exasperated.

"No," Sherlock sighs. "I'm sorry for you. But not - I didn't know him."

"It's okay. I understand, Sherlock," John says, smiling.

"You mean it," Sherlock says, plainly.

"Of course I do," John says, almost reverently. 

Sherlock sighs. "I don't deserve that. I just told you that I don't care that your friend is dead."

"You care about me," John says.

"Infinitely," Sherlock replies, immediately.

"Infinity is an impossible concept," John says, smiling.

Sherlock sighs and it rattles through his entire body. “I want you with me.”

“I can’t ruin this friendship. You will resent me, I would be a burden. To your life-” John says, quietly. "To your work."

“I could never resent you,” Sherlock says, softly.

“How do you know-”

Sherlock closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Because I love you.”

John's eyes widen. “Sherlock, you don’t have to-“

“Oh, John, for one moment can you please be quiet? I want you to live with me because I cannot imagine being apart from you again, unless wholly necessary and even then I won’t let you go without a fight. I want to be with you as much as possible because your happiness and safety are my primary concern,” Sherlock says, shocking himself and noting that his words felt like a dam bursting. 

He taps his fingers on his thighs and looks across to where John has laid his hand, with his palm inviting him closer.

“I love you, too,” John says, quietly.

Sherlock smiles at their hands as they touch.

“Well, yes. I gathered.”

John laughs. “Oh, you tosser.”

A companionable silence stretches on.

“John?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and the familiar hand clasping his own squeezes gently.


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

- 

London, October 2009

 

John opens his eyes and winces at the morning sun, which is streaming in through the hospital window.

He turns on his side and Sherlock's coat is gone from its usual spot on the armchair.

John sighs before closing his eyes again.

The door creeks and his eyes shoot open.

"It's only me," Sherlock says. 

He walks across the room and places a hand on John's arm. 

Sherlock takes off his coat and throws it across the armchair.

"I need to go to the loo," John says, closing his eyes. "Get the nurse."

Sherlock frowns. "Don't be so foolish. Give me your hand."

John opens his eyes and glares. "No."

"John," Sherlock sighs. "I'm not getting the nurse when I can lead you to the bathroom. It's an appendage to this very room."

John closes his eyes and clenches his fists.

"John," Sherlock says, moving closer to the bed and taking John's right hand. "Please."

John opens his eyes. "Fine."

 

 

_ Afghanistan, October 2009 _

_"Please John."_

_The voice he heard was ragged and he couldn't place it._

_"John - oh fuck, I can't feel-"_

_John's hands found their way to the immobile voice._

_"Shh - it's fine, Bill," John said, voice low. "I'm here."_

_It wasn't silent. There was still open-fire all around them, but John could swear he could hear Bill's breathing, laboured and diminishing. Soon to be erratic and ending._

_"Bill?" John said. "Bill, mate. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake, because there's no way I'm carrying you. You're walking with me. We're walking out of here. You hear me?"_

_John looked down the used and forgotten body of his friend. He clenched his hands as they applied pressure to the wound. Bill had gone into shock. He was unconscious and eventually he would stop breathing. John opened his eyes and crouched down into the dust to look at Bill's closed eyes. He rested two bloodied fingers to the pulse point at Bill's neck._

_Hydraulic Decompression._

_John rose to crouch over Bill's body._

_He watched as the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest slowed._

_He looked up to the sky and the blast propelled him over Bill's torso._

_His face was in the dust and his chest heaved and the darkness came._

 

 

London, October 2009

 

Sherlock eases John into the bed, his left arm is around John's back and his right is holding tight to John's right hand.

John closes his eyes when his head hits the pillow.

"There are stairs at Baker Street," Sherlock says, distantly. 

John opens his eyes. 

"I remember," John says, breathless.

Sherlock stares in silence for a moment.

"I - my bedroom is downstairs," Sherlock begins. "We could swap, for a few months, I could sleep upstairs."

John nods minutely.

"I've prepared for that eventuality," Sherlock continues. "I've brought your things, that were left here at the hospital, to the flat. I'm going to your mothers today and she said-"

"You spoke to my mum?" John interrupts, expectant. 

"I spoke to Harriet," Sherlock frowns. "I'm going to pick up most of your clothes. What else do you need?"

John sighs and closes his eyes.

"John?" Sherlock says.

"I don't need anything," John answers. "Just some clothes and the books from my bedroom."

Sherlock nods. "I'll be back here at 5pm."

"They don't release me until 6pm," John says, quietly.

Sherlock stares at him. "I'll be here at 5pm."

  

 

_ London, February 2008 _

_"What time is it?" Sherlock asked, his eyes still closed and his breathing coming in gasps._

_John pulled back and rested his left hand on Sherlock's heaving chest as he checked his watch._

_"It's four," John answered, sighing._

_"We have one hour," Sherlock said, moving his hips._

_John sighed at the contact._

_"We have thirty minutes," John breathed against Sherlock's exposed neck, before he licked a long strip and bit down hard._

_Sherlock gasped. "Fuck- John."_

_John pulled back, with a breathless grin. "What?"_

_Sherlock opened his eyes and John's gaze was open and aroused._

_Soon he would be leaving._

_John frowned. "What is it?"_

_Sherlock craned his neck and captured John's lips. He bit at John's lower lip and the gasp it created allowed him to delve in deeper with his tongue and taste everything. His hands were like a vice on John's hips and their clothed erections pressed together, each move of their hips causing a bolt of arousal to start in their spines and spread like osmosis throughout their entire bodies._

_"Oh fuck, Sherlock," John sighed into Sherlock's mouth. "Make me come like this."_

_Sherlock pulled back and studied John's face._

_Their eyes were wide and their mouths were wet and Sherlock was subconsciously matching John's rhythm as they ground their hips together and moaned into each other's mouths._

_"Make me come, Sherlock," John panted above him. "Make me come in my trousers. Make. Me. Come."_

_John's final three words were punctuated by three precise movements of his hips and Sherlock's eyes shot open and he chased John's groin with his own and with two short thrusts he was coming with a broken sigh._

_Sherlock bit down hard on John's collarbone and sighed throughout his orgasm._

_John was grinding erratically above him, his eyes were closed and a sweet sheen of sweat was across his face and continued down his neck and went unseen under his shirt, across his chest and down his stomach mixing with the wetness smeared across his groin._

_John angled his hips and clenched his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and he came with a shout, crying out Sherlock's name as his orgasm tore through him like an awakening with the sun blinding you._

_Their foreheads touched and Sherlock's hands were moving soothingly across John's back._

_"I'll miss you," John said, eventually._

_Sherlock pressed a kiss to John's neck and nodded minutely._

  

 

London, October 2009

 

John opens his eyes to the bright room.

He sits on the edge of the bed and picks up a newspaper that has been left on the table and flips through the pages, not really reading. Headlines blur and contort. 

His eyes scan the pages distractedly.

Sherlock walks into the room. John doesn't look up.

"Hello," Sherlock says, discarding his coat. "How are you feeling?"

John closes his eyes and opens them slowly, he continues to scan the paper.

"You're dressed. Good," Sherlock says. "They insist on me taking you out of here in a wheelchair."

John doesn't respond.

"John," Sherlock breathes. "Words aren't wasted with me. When I speak I usually require audience participation."

John makes a noise of acknowledgement.

"Which means I require words," Sherlock frowns. "Words, John! From you!"

John sets the paper aside and looks at Sherlock, who is standing by the window glaring at him.

"I understand hospital protocol," John says. "I did train in one."

Sherlock smiles.

"Your snark is still there, I see," Sherlock says, shaking his head. "I'll get it then, shall I?"

John looks down at his lap.

"Why haven't you kissed me?" John says, quietly.

Sherlock frowns. "Was I supposed to kiss you?"

"I don't know," John says, finding Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock moves closer to the bed, going to sit beside John, opting for the armchair opposite instead.

"You don't want to," John says, nodding.

Sherlock sighs. "I always want to kiss you."

"Fine," John says, looking away. "Go get the chair."

"John," Sherlock breathes. "I-"

"Get the chair," John interrupts.

Sherlock stands and rests a hand on John's good shoulder before leaving the room.

 

 

_ Sussex, January 2008 _

_"I like it here," John said, closing his eyes to the darkening room._

_Sherlock looked down to where his hand was tracing lines on John's chest._

_"It's quiet," John continued. "It's nice to get away from London."_

_"You were there for all of one day." Sherlock said sharply._

_John released a sigh._

_"I rather think I like this house with you in it," Sherlock said._

_"I think it would be just as lovely without me taking up space."_

_"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock sighed. "You don't take up space."_

_"Was that a joke about my height?" John frowned._

_Sherlock smiled. "What if it was, Lieutenant?"_

_John craned his neck to look at Sherlock's face._

_"I was going to threaten you," John smiled. "But now, I find that I want to kiss you."_

_Sherlock looked down at John's face, wide-eyed and observing._

_"I wouldn't be adverse to that," Sherlock said, features still blank._

_John smiled and shifted his weight to sit next to Sherlock._

_"Go on then," John said. "Unless..."_

_Sherlock frowned. "Don't be ridiculous, John. I always want to kiss you."_

  

 

London, October 2009

 

"John." 

John opens his eyes and glances to where Sherlock is stood in the doorway.

"I said, are you ready?" Sherlock says, wheeling the chair next to John's bed.

"Yeah," John says. "Can you-"

Sherlock holds out his hand.

"That's the first real response you've given me today," Sherlock breathes, pulling John close and easing him into the chair. "Is that adequate?"

"Yeah," John sighs, stretching his neck and resting his head against Sherlock's stomach.

"May we leave?" Sherlock says, bending to press a kiss to John's forehead.

"God, yes," John breathes, closing his eyes. "Please."

  

 

_ London, December 1997 _

_"You're here again?"_

_John opened his eyes and Sherlock loomed over him, blocking the winter sun._

_"Hello," John replied, one eye open and smiling._

_Sherlock cocked an eyebrow up and then lay down beside him._

_"Why are you so content here?" Sherlock asked._

_John turned on his side. "It's quiet."_

_Sherlock made a non-committed sound of understanding._

_"It was quiet," Sherlock eventually said, a hint of a smile in his tone._

_John laughed and closed his eyes again._

_"I like that you can lie here for hours and never be disturbed," John said._

_"I disturb you," Sherlock replied._

_"Yours is a welcome disturbance," John smiled. "Like a fire alarm at the start of a shift. Or rain in the dead of night. Or burnt toast. Or when the electricity goes out and you have to read by candlelight."_

_Sherlock stared. "Are you finished?"_

_John opened his eyes and laughed. "What I'm saying is, I like being alone more than anything. But I love being alone with you."_

_"That doesn't make sense," Sherlock frowned._

_"It does to me," John said, closing his eyes again. "So, there."_

  

 

London, October 2009

 

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asks, holding out his hand and looking John over.

John glares at him. "Of course I can bloody walk."

Sherlock frowns.

"Just help me up the stairs, Sherlock. When we get to them," John sighs. "Okay?"

"That sounds achievable," Sherlock says, holding out his hand. "Any pain? Discomfort?"

"Sherlock."

"The answer," Sherlock frowns.

"No. I just want to get inside the flat," John sighs. "Can we do that in silence?"

Sherlock frowns again.

"Remember. Your face will stick like that if you're not careful," John says, almost smiling.

"That's impossible, John," Sherlock replies. "Also, silence?"

John motions a zip across his lips with his free hand, while Sherlock helps him out of the cab, not convincingly suppressing a grin.

They walk to the door and John closes his eyes and squeezes Sherlock's hand. Sherlock smiles down at him and opens the front door.

They are greeted by armfuls of Mrs. Hudson. She kisses John's cheek and holds Sherlock's hand.

"It's wonderful to have you here, dear," She says, speaking to John. "Sherlock hasn't talked about much else."

John looks up at Sherlock and raises an eyebrow. Sherlock glares.

"That's nice. Mrs Hudson. Off you go," Sherlock says, giving her a little push towards her own flat. "We'll be in touch. Oh! Any milk in?"

"I'm your landlady, dear," She says, smiling and she eventually sighs. "Two litres in the fridge. I'm putting it on your rent."

Sherlock turns to John and nods towards the stairs. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Sherlock," John says. "Just - be patient."

"I'm always patient," Sherlock says, frowning.

John glares at him and lets out a laugh. "Right. Okay, put your arm around my waist. I'll go in front and I'll hold onto the bannister. You go behind and all you have to do is make sure I don't lose balance or let go. Does that sound acceptable?"

Sherlock gazes down at him.

"Sherlock?" John sighs. "What is it?"

"I'm glad you're here," Sherlock says. 

John furrows his brows together and sighs. "Right. We'll talk about your newfound domesticity after you've helped me up the stairs. Okay?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes, Captain."

John smiles as Sherlock snakes an arm around his waist.

"Ready?" Sherlock asks. 

"Ready."

 

 

_ London, April 2005 _

_"Do I disturb you?" John asked, facing Sherlock._

_"What are you rattling on about?" Sherlock replied, sounding exasperated._

_"Don't be a pillock," John said. "You know what I'm asking."_

_Sherlock glared at him. "Where has this come from?"_

_"A long time ago I said that you were a welcome disturbance," John said, his voice quiet. "Am I that to you, a welcome disturbance?"_

_Sherlock drew his eyebrows together. "No."_

_John winced._

_"You do the opposite," Sherlock began. "I thunder through your life, I always have. But you, you keep me together. Rather splendidly. You're not a disturbance."_

_"Indispensable," John smiled._

_"Indispensable," Sherlock breathed. "Exactly."_

 

 

London, October 2009

 

"Blimey!" John says, gasping. "This place hasn't half changed."

Sherlock stands in the centre of the room. "Is it good?"

"Very good," John laughs. "Two armchairs AND a sofa. You've outdone yourself."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. 

"Where do I sit?" John says, smiling. "Assuming you've grown attached to the sofa and one of those chairs."

Sherlock grins. 

"You know me so well. That one is yours," Sherlock says, nodding towards the worn, red armchair; comfortable and practical. 

It looks inviting and John laughs as he gazes at the armchair that faces it.

"Of course," John says, smiling. "I'm an idiot."

"You said it," Sherlock replies, grinning. "Go on, sit down and I'll-"

John cocks an eyebrow up. "This I really need to see."

Sherlock frowns. "Tea?"

"Don't let me put you off," John says, smirking. "Please."

John walks to the armchair and lowers himself down with a sigh.

Sherlock follows, placing both hands on the arms of the chair and leaning down.

"Hello," John says, smiling.

"This is the happiest I've seen you since before you left the last time," Sherlock whispers. "Please, don't let that change."

John's features contort into something different. 

Sherlock leans forward and their lips press together. John sighs against Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock pulls back, pressing a kiss to John's forehead.

"Thank you," John says, quietly. 

"What for?" Sherlock asks, grinning. 

John stares at him and smiles. "Just, thank you."

"Sentimental man," Sherlock says, shaking his head. "Don't get used to the novelty of that spot, you'll be bored witless soon enough."

"I'll accept that challenge," John says, closing his eyes. "Where's my tea?"


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

- 

London, January 8 2010

 

John wakes. 

He lies on the bed, panting and writhing, he looks up at the ceiling. 

He immediately thinks of dying. He closes his eyes tight and he takes in gulps of air. 

He tries to remember how he got here. He tries to remember where "here" is, exactly.

He opens his eyes and in the darkness he cannot see anything familiar. 

His breathing is laboured and there's an unearthly pain in his shoulder, like a cramp, but more permanent. 

He closes his eyes again and tries to breathe.

He counts to three.

One.

"John?"

Two.

"Open your eyes, John. Please."

Three.

John opens his eyes and there's a familiar looming figure staring down at him, with wide eyes and a firm hold on his thigh.

"John?" Sherlock's voice is quiet, reverently hushed and it pours over him, like honey. 

John reaches out his hand and takes hold of the long fingers which are grasping tight on his thigh. 

"John, you were having a nightmare," The liquid voice says. "I'm here. It's okay."

John closes his eyes again and the thudding in his head dissipates and the sweat on his brow begins to cool and the fingers which clutch helplessly to Sherlock slip away, as does he, surrendering to sleep, once more.

"I'm here. It's okay."

 

 

_ London, November 2009 _

 

_"Thoughts?" Sherlock's voice sounded, like a siren, for the first time since they left the cemetery._

_John closed his eyes and removed his tie wordlessly._

_"They didn't seem alarmed that you didn't go to the hotel after the cemetery," Sherlock stated, plainly, moving from the living room to the kitchen._

_"No," John said softly. "They were a bit preoccupied."_

_Sherlock frowned, as he stared at John, from the kitchen door._

_"As are you," Sherlock said. "Will you please talk to me."_

_John let out a muffled laugh as he removed his shirt. "We are talking."_

_Sherlock stared as John undressed before him._

_John removed each piece of his suit and carefully folded them, placing them on the settee._

_"John," Sherlock breathed. "I understand that he was your friend."_

_John walked towards Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his waist, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Sherlock's neck and inhaling deeply._

_"John. You're upset," Sherlock sighed, as John placed an open-mouthed kiss to his pulse-point. "I can't-"_

_"Yes you can," John said, before nibbling at Sherlock's Jaw. "I need you."_

_Sherlock stared down at John with wide eyes._

_"I am upset," John said, returning Sherlock's gaze. "And I need you."_

_Sherlock closed his eyes and surrendered to the soft, wet sweetness that was the caress of John's lips._

  

 

London, January 8 2010

 

Sherlock is lying on his side watching the steady rise and fall of John's chest.

He places his right hand on John's sternum and moves closer, his breath a barely perceptible breeze through John's sandy hair.

Sherlock sighs and inhales John's scent until it's indistinguishable in their shared bed. 

John stirs minutely in his sleep and Sherlock continues to gaze at the steady waves of John's breathing. 

It laps through the duvet, like the tide, and immerses him.

 

 

_ London, January 6, 2010 _

_"Don't you dare," John hissed. "Don't you fucking dare."_

_Sherlock stood by the kitchen counter and crossed his arms at his chest._

_"Sherlock!" John thundered. "Audience participation. Remember."_

_Sherlock sighed and looked at the floor. "The hospital. I do recall those particular conversations"_

_John laughed and Sherlock winced._

_"It's for the best, John," Sherlock said. "You know how I feel about the matter."_

_"She's my mum," John breathed. "Please."_

_Sherlock sighed and raised his gaze from the floor to find John._

_His John._

_"By name," Sherlock said, confidently. "She failed to perform her role as the matriarchal figure in your life. You don't need her love and you certainly do not need her approval."_

_"She's dying," John whispered. "She's - she's my mum."_

_Sherlock broke their gaze and moved into the living room, joining John and aching to be closer._

_John stepped back as Sherlock approached him with an arm outstretched._

_"John-" Sherlock started._

_"No!" John gasped. "No. Don't. You've said enough."_

_"John I didn't mean-" Sherlock tried._

_"Yes you did," John said, shaking his head. "Words are not wasted with you."_

_Sherlock winced as his own words were used against him._

_"I will not apologise for being disapproving of her," Sherlock sighed._

_John glared at him._

_"You're disappointed?" Sherlock asked, frowning._

_"That's a good deduction, Sherlock," John said, breathless. "Excellent."_

_The praise was a foreign sound to Sherlock's ears. It didn't carry the correct and usual inflection._

_John was being sarcastic._

_"I will not apologise for wanting nothing to do with that woman," Sherlock said, moving closer to John. "But I will apologise for upsetting you."_

_John stared at him._

_"I apologise," Sherlock repeated, moving closer to John again. "But I will not accompany you to the hospital. I will not condone what that woman has put you through."_

_Sherlock placed a hand on John's neck. "Come to bed."_

_John leaned into Sherlock's touch. "No."_

_Sherlock closed his eyes. "This isn't over, is it?"_

_John laughed and turned to look at Sherlock properly._

_"I just need to think for a bit," John sighed, pressed his hand to Sherlock's chest and pushed slightly. Sherlock took hold of John's arm._

_Sherlock opened his eyes to the blue ambush that was John's unrelenting gaze._

_"Don't be long," Sherlock insisted, before releasing John._

_John closed his eyes and laughed again._

_Sherlock stared, wide-eyed._

_"Yes," John said. "Just - just let me think."_

_Sherlock nodded and retreated to their bedroom._

  

 

London, January 8 2010

 

Sherlock closes his eyes against John's skin and sighs. 

"What have you done to me?" Sherlock whispers, pressing a kiss to John's temple.

John turns his head and captures Sherlock's lips. 

Sherlock winces into the kiss and his right hand finds John's face and there's a stillness, a pause in the kiss which causes a shiver to spend itself through their bodies. 

John makes a stifled whimper into Sherlock's mouth and a few, sporadic tears stream between Sherlock's fingers. 

Rain becomes the sea and just for a moment he feels free.

"Never say that again," John whispers into Sherlock's mouth.

"John-" Sherlock sighs. "I didn't mean anything by it."

John lets a huff of laughter and it scorches Sherlock's skin.

"Words are never wasted with you," John sighs. "You always mean everything."

  

 

_ Sussex, July 2006 _

_"You're laughing. It's distracting," Sherlock said, frowning. "I have never felt cold like this, John."_

_Sherlock stood in his boxers, frowning at John._

_John looked amused. "I can't help it."_

_Sherlock continued to frown._

_John laughed. "Your face will stick like that."_

_John moved closer to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his middle._

_Sherlock sagged in John's embrace._

_"Better?" John sighed. "You're freezing."_

_Sherlock sighed as loudly as he could. "Obviously."_

_John chuckled. "You don't do extremes well, do you?"_

_Sherlock breathed against John's neck and allowed his lips to press lightly, he revelled in the warmth there._

_"I'm going to light the fire," John said, making no effort to let go of his hold of Sherlock. "Go get your pyjamas and robe on."_

_Sherlock sighed against John. "Today was wonderful."_

_"I thought it was intolerable?" John smiled. "All of that complaining?"_

_"It was. But you are certainly tolerable," Sherlock said._

_"Ta," John laughed, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's collarbone. "Go, you insufferable man. I want you back in my arms in ten minutes."_

_"What is it about Sussex when you're here?" Sherlock sighed. "Tell me."_

_Sherlock's hands roamed possessively over John's back and John leaned into Sherlock's touch._

_"I don't know," John said, plainly. "It's comfortable, I guess."_

_"Yes. It is," Sherlock sighed. "Something like that."_

_John kissed Sherlock's collarbone again and sighed against his skin._

_"I think-" John started, his breath hitching against Sherlock's neck. "I think we're, well, I know I am, anxious about my leaving in the new year."_

_Sherlock nodded minutely._

_"Enough of this. Go get changed. I'll be by the fire, waiting for you," John said, quietly._

_Sherlock groaned before untangling himself from John's arms._  

 

 

London, January 8 2010

 

"I'll go to the hospital," Sherlock whispers. 

John opens his eyes to the darkness and sees Sherlock's eyes, open and so incredibly ernest.

"What?" John asks. "Sorry - why?"

Sherlock closes his eyes and sighs. "For you. Surely you know it's always for you."

John places a hand to Sherlock's neck and leans in, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's throat.

"Thank you," John whispers. 

Sherlock nods minutely. "I can finally breathe."

"I don't understand," John says, trailing his fingertips across a small rough patch of skin below Sherlock's left eye.

"I won't speak to her. I won't see her," Sherlock sighs. "I will wait in the corridor for you. I will be there for you. No one else."

John nods, barely perceptible in the darkness.

 

 

_ Sussex, January 2008 _

_"Stop it!" John laughed. "I swear to Christ, Sherlock."_

_Sherlock ducked his head to John's neck and relented the dancing flutters of his finger-tips to John's sides._

_"Ah, so you concede?" Sherlock gasped against John's neck._

_John let out a thunderous laugh. "Of course I do, you lanky idiot."_

_Sherlock rested his head on John's chest and breathed there._

_"Sherlock," John said._

_Sherlock groaned. "Hmmph"_

_"I can't breathe," John said, smiling. "Get off me."_

_Sherlock rolled off John and curled at his side, draping an arm across John's chest._

_"I don't want to leave," John said eventually._

_"Yes you do," Sherlock replied, with his eyes closed and his words a flutter against John's neck._

_John laughed nervously. "Yes, well, I don't want to leave you."_

_"More accurate," Sherlock sighed. "Sussex doesn't go anywhere."_

_"Oi! I'm trying to be romantic, here," John said, smiling to the ceiling._

_"Don't," Sherlock sighed. "It's dull and I'd rather we didn't waste time on such tedium."_

_John laughed, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's curls and pressing kisses there._

_"Don't you dare stop," Sherlock breathed. "That feels glorious."_

_John laughed, deep and honest against Sherlock's curls._

_"Come here," John said, caressing Sherlock's neck._

_Sherlock moved up the bed and lay on his side looking at John._

_"That's better," John said. "I like to see you."_

_Sherlock closed his eyes and then closed the distance between them both, with his lips._

_The kiss was a soft press of lips and John sighed against Sherlock's mouth._

_"Sussex will miss you," Sherlock breathed. "Don't take your time in coming home."_

_John laughed. "You'll be in Baker Street, if you haven't destroyed it, by the time I'm on leave again."_

_"Yes," Sherlock nodded. "We'll come here again when you're back."_

_"That sounds pretty damn brilliant to me," John said, pressing a light kiss to Sherlock's forehead._

 

 

London, January 8 2010

 

"We never did go to Sussex," Sherlock says, quietly. 

John opens his eyes. "No. We didn't."

Sherlock touches John's neck.

"Can we?" Sherlock asks, then pauses. "I know that we physically can. You're a lot more able than you were all those months ago and it's not too far. I can drive."

"Sherlock, we've been to Sussex a handful of times. I know we are fully able," John frowns.

Sherlock sighs. 

"Sherlock-" John breathes.

"After you visit your mother," Sherlock nods. "We'll go to Sussex and then return for the funeral."

John closes his eyes at that.

"John-" Sherlock starts. "I-"

John lets out a laugh. "No. It's okay. I understand. I forget how literal you can be. I know you mean no harm."

"I never mean any harm, to you, ever," Sherlock whispers. "I just-"

"I know," John agrees, smiling at Sherlock, for the first time since their argument. "We'll go to Sussex and then return for the funeral."

Sherlock nods and then places an open mouthed caress to John's neck.

"Are you-" John starts. "Are you going to the funeral?"

Sherlock pauses and then presses a kiss to where John's neck flows into his expansive shoulders. 

"Yes," Sherlock whispers. "I can't let you go through that alone."

"That's big of you," John laughs. 

Sherlock sighs against John's neck.

"Thank you," John whispers. 

 

 

_ Sussex, January 2008 _

_"Beautiful isn't it?" Sherlock said, staring at the sky._

_John turned on his side to look at him. "I thought those notions about the night sky were too romanticised for your taste?"_

_Sherlock tore his gaze from the sky. The brilliant and vast space, with it's millions of shining beacons of hope, or some other drivel, Sherlock thought._

_He tore his gaze away and rolled on his side and found his own shining and eternal beacon staring back at him, expectantly._

_"It doesn't mean I can't appreciate it," Sherlock said, concentrating wholly on the lines at the corners of John's eyes._

_"You romantic fool, you," John laughed, moving closer to Sherlock and resting a hand on Sherlock's waist._

_"Not romantic," Sherlock answered seriously._

_John stared at him, wide eyed._

_"You are a conductor of light, John Watson," Sherlock said, frowning. "Much more definitive than those celestial bodies."_

_"I-" John started._

_Sherlock sighed out a laugh. "You don't understand."_

_John nodded._

_"It doesn't matter," Sherlock smiled. "I appreciate it all the same."_

_"Noted," John said, smiling and moving closer to Sherlock's chest._

_Sherlock snaked an arm around John, he raised his eyes to the sky once more and sighed._

_Looking at the man in his arms he resigned to his every whim, with one press of his lips to John's forehead._

  

 

London, January 9 2010

 

"Hello?" John's tired voice answers, quelling the incessant ringing.

"John."

"Harry?" John says. "It's early- I can't really-"

"John, it's mum."

Silence stretches on.

"When did it happen?" John asks. 

He's standing in the living room and the sun is just threatening to rise. 

He looks out of the window and almost smiles.

"About ten minutes ago. I think. I don't know. You're the doctor. You should be here. She was sleeping and then the nurse said she died. She's dead."

John closes his eyes and touches the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

He releases a breath he can't remember holding.

"Heart failure," John breathes. "Do I need to be there now?"

Silence stretches on.

"Harriet?" John says. "Do I need to be there now?"

"Do you want to be here?"

John stares out of the window again.

"No," John says, finally. "I don't think I do."

"That's alright."

"Is it?" John asks.

"Clara is here."

"That's good," John sighs. "Are you two-"

"Oh, no. She's just here."

Silence stretches on again.

Sherlock appears in the living room and startles John out of his silence.

Sherlock frowns at him.

"Harry, I have to go," John says, still staring at Sherlock. "I'll be at the hospital later this afternoon, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

John stares at his mobile phone. A strong hand on his arm startles him.

"When did it happen?" Sherlock asks.

"About fifteen minutes ago," John says, still staring at the mobile in his hand.

"Thoughts?" Sherlock says, weakly.

John laughs and looks up at Sherlock. He smiles.

"My mum's dead," John begins. "I'm going to be upset. I'll no doubt have to pour every drop of alcohol, from Harry's flat, down the sink. I'll go to the funeral and then that will be that."

Sherlock stares at him. "You're wrong."

"What about this time?" John asks, exhausted.

"We will go to the funeral," Sherlock says.

John stares at him and nods. "This means no Sussex. At least for now."

"Yes," Sherlock, begins. "Sussex doesn't go anywhere. We have all of the time in the world."

John laughs.

"Of course, not literally, no one really has all of the time," Sherlock says, deadpan.

John continues to laugh.

"John-" Sherlock says, startled.

"Sorry," John says, smiling. "What do I have to laugh about?"

Sherlock stares. "I don't know."

"Neither do I," John starts. "We make quite the pair."

Sherlock smiles. "Yes. Giggling when inappropriate."

A companionable silence stretches on. Sherlock's phone goes off across the room and John gives Sherlock's arm an affectionate squeeze, leaving him to answer it.

 

_

 

It's the 3rd one. 

Appeared suicide.

Where are you?

-GL

_

 

Sherlock stares at the text.

He looks through to the kitchen and sees John go through the motions of tea-making.

Sherlock sighs, closes his eyes and types his reply.

 

_

 

Give me until tomorrow.

You know where I am.

-SH

 

_

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Part Nine

- 

London, January 14 2010

 

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asks, taking John's jacket from his hands.

John stands in the centre of the living room and rubs his hands over his face.

"Must we?" John asks.

Sherlock frowns. "Must we what?"

"Must we perform the funeral-postmortem, right this instant?"

Sherlock looks away, to the floor, to the ceiling, before finding John's tired gaze.

"We don't talk about anything either one of us doesn't want to talk about," Sherlock frowns. "That's our rule."

"Exactly," John smiles, halfheartedly. "Can we just go to bed?"

Sherlock stares. "Of course, John. Whatever you desire."

"What I desire is you," John sighs, before moving closer to Sherlock and resting his hands on Sherlock's chest. "This past week has been irrationally crackers."

"Is your judgment impaired?" Sherlock asks.

John smiles up at him. "Probably."

Sherlock takes John's hands and leads him to their bedroom.

 

 

_ London, February 1998 _

_"John is different," Sherlock said. "I think you should take a moment to reflect upon that,before you poison this."_

_"Sherlock, little brother, when are you ever in the position to tell me what I can and cannot do?"_

_Sherlock sighed. "I appear to be - I'm putting my trust in you."_

_Mycroft released a thunderous laugh._

_"I'm serious, Mycroft," Sherlock glared. "Just leave it be."_

_"I know John is different," Mycroft smiled. "A doctor? Very nice."_

_Sherlock frowned._

_"How quaint," Mycroft grinned._

_"Mycroft," Sherlock warned. "Please."_

_Mycroft's eyes widened._

_Sherlock released a breath and turned to leave._

_"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock," Mycroft said, suddenly._

_Sherlock closed his eyes. "How would you know?"_

_Mycroft glared at the back of Sherlock's head, his eyes tried to bore into Sherlock's skull._

_Sherlock smiled before he opened the door and left the room._

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

"Make me come," John sighs.

Sherlock stares, his hands grasping onto John's hips. 

John's eyes are closed. Sherlock hasn't seen the two, blue spheres of compassion since they left the living room. 

Sherlock continues to stare as John's movements begin to become erratic above him.

John's voice is breathless. "Sherlock?" 

"John," Sherlock gasps, before John presses his hands hard on Sherlock's chest.

"Oh, fuck," John breathes. "I'm going to- Sherlock-"

Sherlock's eyes are wide and before he can think he is unclasping John's belt and opening his jeans. 

Sherlock takes hold of John's erection and after no more than four strokes John is spilling over Sherlock's fingers. 

John's hands are grasping onto Sherlock's shirt and he's shaking as aftershocks rattle through him. 

Sherlock holds him through it until John is lying over Sherlock's chest and placing lethargic, sloppy kisses across Sherlock's neck.

"I love you," John says, finally.

Sherlock's hands still on John's back before he shifts wordlessly.

John rolls to his side and stares at Sherlock with wide, questioning eyes.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Sherlock says, standing.

"Sherlock?" John sighs. "What the hell are you doing, get back in this bed."

Sherlock stares down at John. 

He closes his eyes.

 

 

_ Sussex, January 2008 _

_"Come back to bed," Sherlock groaned._

_John turned away from the window and smiled back at him._

_"You look indecent in this light," John said._

_Sherlock shifted onto his back, the white sheet tangled around his legs and fell from his waist. John's eyes roamed over Sherlock's chest and rested on his face._

_"Indecent," John breathed. "Impossibly indecent."_

_Sherlock kicked the sheet off the bed and stretched out his legs, his gaze not leaving John's._

_John closed his eyes and opened them to Sherlock's unrelenting gaze._

_Sherlock ghosted his hands across his chest and down, before taking hold of his cock. He continued to gaze at John while he wanked himself._

_"You're not going to make me do all of the work," Sherlock sighed. "Are you?"_

_John smiled, before joining Sherlock on the bed and straddling his thighs._

_"Since when do you ever do anything yourself?" John asked, taking hold of Sherlock's growing erection._

_Sherlock closed his eyes and his back arched at the first few strokes from John's strong, calloused hand._

_"Do you want me to make you come, Sherlock?" John breathed, leaning down and whispering into Sherlock's ear._

_Sherlock moaned and turned to capture John's lips._

_John pulled back and smiled. "Tell me."_

_Sherlock sighed again._

_"Tell me, Sherlock," John whispered._

_"Make me come, John," Sherlock moaned. "I want you to make me come."_

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

Sherlock opens his eyes to John's gaze.

"I need a moment," Sherlock says.

John stretches forward, taking hold of Sherlock's hips. "I can help you for a moment."

John palms Sherlock's cock through his trousers.

Sherlock closes his eyes, leaning into John's touch.

"No," Sherlock pulls back. "I'll be back in a moment."

"Sherlock?" John stares. 

Sherlock turns and walks across the room and into the adjoining bathroom.

He stands at the sink and looks at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair is a mass of unruly and disturbed curls. He has faint circles under his eyes.

He smiles.

"Oh," Sherlock sighs. "Novel."

 

 

_ Sussex, January 2008 _

_"There are no stars tonight," John said, gazing at the sky._

_Sherlock sighed audibly beside him, eyes closed and hands pressed tightly under his chin._

_"Sherlock?"_

_Sherlock made a non-committal sound of interest._

_"You're not listening to me," John sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"_

_Sherlock lay in silence._

_"No constellations."_

_Silence._

_"Some storm clouds."_

_Silence._

_"It's snowing."_

_"It's raining."_

_"It's-"_

_Sherlock sighed. "John Hamish Watson. Be quiet."_

_"-pouring," John smiled._

_"John-" Sherlock warned. "Are you quite finished?"_

_John turned on his side and pressed his lips against Sherlock's neck._

_"It's pouring, Sherlock," John whispered._

_"No it's not." Sherlock sighed._

_"Yes it is," John breathed, tickling Sherlock's skin. "Can you feel it?"_

_"I cannot feel that which isn't there, John," Sherlock sighed, swallowing thickly as John's breath caressed his skin._

_John placed a hand on Sherlock's chest and kissed lightly below his ear._

_Sherlock moaned, before taking John's hand in his own. "I can see the stars."_

_John continued to place light kisses across Sherlock's neck._

_"Do look, John," Sherlock said._

_John pulled back and pressed closer to Sherlock's side as he gazed up at the sky._

_"Oh," John started. "You're quite right."_

_"I'm always right," Sherlock breathed._

_"Not always," John smiled._

_Sherlock turned to find John's gaze._

_John's smiling eyes._

_"I love you," Sherlock said, frowning._

_John blinked up at Sherlock and smiled. "Don't look so pleased about your revelation, you git."_

_"It needed to be said," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes._

_John continued to blink up at him. "That was quite romantic."_

_Sherlock opened his eyes with a groan. "What is this fresh hell?"_

_John let out a huff of laughter. "You told me you loved me, while we were star-gazing."_

_"Yes?" Sherlock frowned._

_"Most would say that's romantic," John smiled._

_"Most are idiots," Sherlock sighed. But he was smiling._

_John placed a kiss to Sherlock's neck._  

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

Sherlock smiles at his reflection.

Before he turns to leave, strong arms wrap around his middle and a persistent mouth presses against the nape of his neck.

Sherlock leans back into the familiar touch.

"What did I do?" John asks, his words muffled by Sherlock's skin.

"Nothing, John," Sherlock sighs.

"You left before you-" John breathes. "You didn't-"

Sherlock turns in John's arms, leaning against the sink.

John's gaze is open and worried. "Why did you need a moment away from me?"

 

 

_ London, January 9 2010 _

_"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked, looking up from his paper._

_Sherlock frowned. "Whatever I say will just upset you."_

_"Well," John started. "That's comforting."_

_Sherlock shook his head. "No, don't be like that."_

_"Like what, Sherlock?" John sighed._

_"I think you need to talk about your mother," Sherlock began. "I'm not... Equipped for such conversations."_

_John frowned. "Okay..."_

_"But I would like you to know that I will try," Sherlock said._

_John almost smiled. "Thank you."_

_"You're welcome, John," Sherlock said. "Another thing-"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Were you in the correct frame of mind to have sex, this morning?" Sherlock asked._

_John sighed. "Sherlock..."_

_"The answer?" Sherlock asked._

_"I wanted comfort," John answered._

_"Was sex necessary for comfort?" Sherlock said, looking towards the kitchen._

_"Sex was a comfort, yes," John said, finding Sherlock's gaze. "Being with you was what I wanted."_

_Sherlock gazed at John._

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

"You've had your moment," John says. "Are you coming back to bed?"

Sherlock hesitates before speaking. "Yes."

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asks.

"I was thinking about telling you something," Sherlock says softly.

"What is it?" John sighs.

"I love you," Sherlock says.

"Yes," John starts. "And I love you."

"No, John," Sherlock begins. "I love you."

John frowns. "I don't understand."

Sherlock shakes his head. "How does one be romantic?"

"I don't know, Sherlock," John smiles. "You're the expert."

"Yes," Sherlock sighs. "Not in this."

Johns eyes widen. "Did you just-"

"John, be quiet," Sherlock sighs. "I want to formalise our arrangement."

"Sherlock-" John breathes. "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

"No," Sherlock breathes. "Well, someday, but for now, togetherness."

 

 

_ London, January 11 2010 _

_"Do you want to talk about it, John?" Sherlock asked._

_John looked up from the mug he was staring into._

_"Not yet," John sighed. "Thank you."_

_"I don't require thanks," Sherlock stared. "I need to know that you're fine."_

_"I'm fine, Sherlock," John sighed. "It's all fine."_

_"But your mother died two days ago," Sherlock said, plainly._

_John smiled despite himself. "Yes, Sherlock. I remember."_

_"Can I pose a question?" Sherlock asked._

_"It's not like you to ask permission for an utterance." John answered._

_"Lestrade has a case for me," Sherlock began. "Would you accompany me?"_

_"What case, Sherlock?" John asked, warily._

_"The suicides, in the paper, they're not suicides," Sherlock said, smiling. "They're murders. All of them."_

_"How could you possibly know that?" John asked, wide-eyed._

_"We need to go to Angelo's this evening," Sherlock said._

_"Why?" John asked, frowning._

_Sherlock smiled._

_"The murderer - no Sherlock - we are not going to sit in a restaurant with a murderer," John sighed._

_"I didn't say that," Sherlock frowned. "We are going to wait for the murderer to show up outside, while we sit in Angelo's."_

_John smiled. "You're mad."_

_"Yes," Sherlock began. "And you love me."_

_"Yes," John stood, leaned over Sherlock where he sat, and placed a kiss on his forehead. "I do."_

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

"Are you mad?" John asks, wide-eyed.

Sherlock frowns. "That's not correct etiquette when one is answering a proposal."

John laughs. "You're completely nuts."

"John," Sherlock warns.

"I'm sorry," John says. "I'm shocked."

"Evidently," Sherlock frowns. "Do you have an answer or do you wish to continue laughing at me?"

John sighs. "Oh, for goodness sake, Sherlock. You caught me off guard."

Sherlock looks away and crosses his arms.

"Of course I will bloody marry you, or be with you, for however long you'll have me," John breathes. "You idiot."

Sherlock snaps his gaze to John. "Yes?"

"Yes," John smiles, before pressing his lips to Sherlocks. "For however long."

"Infinitely," Sherlock whispers against John's lips.

 

 

_ London, January 11 2010 _

_"That was ridiculous," John wheezed. "That was the most ridiculous thing. I've ever done-"_

_"And you invaded Afghanistan," Sherlock laughed beside him, as they both fell against the wall._

_"That wasn't just me," John breathes._

_Silence stretched on and their breathing reverberated throughout the hallway._

_"Thank you," John said, finally._

_Sherlock glanced at his friend, flatmate, lover, companion. "Whatever for?"_

_"For making things better," John breathed. "For helping me to forget."_

_Sherlock stared, wide eyed. "You don't have to forget, John."_

_"I know," John started. "But it helps."_

_Sherlock stared at John before pressing a kiss to his temple. "For however long."_

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

"We've talked about that," John says, breaking away from the kiss. "It's an impossible concept, remember?"

"I used to think infinity was illogical," Sherlock begins. "I seemed to have overlooked an important variable."

John gazes up at Sherlock. "And what would that be?"

"Never discourage the prospect of infinity," Sherlock whispers. "Especially when there is a John Watson to consider."

"Even if said prospect is illogical?" John asks, smiling.

"Ah," Sherlock smiles. "But if we are infinite, if we are for an eternity, won't that mean we can pose this question in another lifetime?"

John stares blankly.

"Think about it, John," Sherlock breathes. "I concede my opinion that the concept of infinity is illogical, in exchange for the prospect of multiple lifetimes with you."

"Thank you?" John says, almost smiling.

Sherlock frowns. "Tell me you understand."

"I understand," John smiles.

Sherlock's sigh is audible, it reverberates throughout the bathroom. "The English word _infinity_  derives from the Latin  _infinitas_ , which can be translated as 'unboundedness,' itself calqued from the Greek word  _apeiros_ , meaning 'endless'."

"Okay," John breathes. "So, Mycroft thinking sixty-minutes runs longer than ninety-minutes paid off when you were learning Classics?"

Sherlock smiles. "Do you intend to make a habit out of not listening to me and then proceeding to say something inane?"

"Sherlock," John begins. "I perfected that habit thirteen years ago."

Sherlock captures John's lips and they each lean into the other's touch.

"Can we please go back into the bedroom," John breathes against Sherlock's mouth. "I want to fuck you."

Sherlock closes his eyes and nods his head minutely. 

John takes his hands and leads him to their bedroom.

The bed is how they left it. Pillows are askew, but otherwise it is still intact. 

"What is it?" John asks when he finds Sherlock's gaze.

"I don't think I'll ever become accustomed to this, being desirable to you," Sherlock says, matter-of-factly.

John raises his hands to Sherlock's neck and stares at him. "I have always and will always find you desirable."

"Wrong," Sherlock says, his eyes blown wide.

"Excuse me?" John smiles.

"You grew to find me desirable and you will continue to do so," Sherlock says.

John laughs. "You really know how to create special moments."

"I was merely speaking the truth," Sherlock starts. "I - what?"

John is smiling up at him. "When I said that I wanted to fuck you, I did mean this evening."

Sherlock's lips quirk into a smile. "Now who's creating special moments?"

"Fair dos," John sighs. "Clothes. Off. Please."

Sherlock leans in and his breath is a flutter against John's ear. "Would you like me to strip for you, Captain?"

John freezes under Sherlock's gaze.

"Not good?" Sherlock says, his eyes darting across John's face.

John's eyes widen, he presses his hands to Sherlock's chest and pushes him against the wall. 

Sherlock stares down at John, who is pressed hard against him.

"No," John starts, before licking a long strip up Sherlock's neck. "That was good. Very good."

Sherlock smiles, wickedly. 

John's lips are relentless, yet soft. 

They kiss for a few moments and each moment settles around them, barricading them into the bedroom. Their hands are roaming across chests and backs. Breaths hitch as sensitive places are caressed and each intake of breath is stolen by another kiss. 

Their clothes are removed in a hurried rush of hands grasping onto material and another hand pulling and stretching until they're both standing, in their underwear, and entangled in the other.

Sherlock's hands roam over John's back, before resting on John's chest and pushing, gently at first, until John is on his back on the bed. Sherlock looms over him and presses light kisses across his neck, before finding John's lips and they kiss again. Long and deep. John manoeuvres his hips until he can feel Sherlock's cock move against his own and they moan. For as long as their kisses, as deep as those kisses, too. 

Sherlock kisses down John's chest. Inhaling John's scent as he goes. He reaches the waistband of John's boxers and he nuzzles against the almost-erection, which resides there. 

John's hands nestle lightly into Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock grasps onto John's hips and he pulls John's boxers down, releasing John's cock and letting it fall heavily against his stomach. 

Sherlock peeks up at John and smiles. John brushes the curls from Sherlock's forehead with his hand. Their eyes are blown wide and there's a rose-tint across their cheeks. Their breathing is coming in gasps and John moves his hips, slightly. Sherlock smiles again, before taking a firm hold of John's cock and licking a long strip up the shaft. Sherlock presses a soft kiss to the head of John's cock before taking the glands into his mouth and savouring the wet head with his tongue. He savours the taste.

John moans above him, his hips move instinctively, pushing his cock further into Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock pulls back, he releases John's cock with an obscene sound, and his breathing is erratic.

"I need to kiss you this instant," John manages.

Sherlock climbs up John's body and their lips meet hungrily.

"I can taste," John says. "Oh - fuck. I can taste myself on your tongue."

Sherlock captures John's lips again and they moan.

Sherlock undulates his hips against John's groin. 

Their erections touch; a soft kiss from fabric to skin.

"Take those off," John breathes.

Sherlock nods minutely, before kneeling to pull his boxers off.

John's strong hand takes hold of Sherlock's cock when it's free. Sherlock melts under John's touch, he splays himself on top of John, placing light licks and kisses to patches of skin his tongue and lips can reach.

John strokes Sherlock softly, he brings him to full hardness and snakes his other hand around to caress the cleft of Sherlock's arse. His fingers dance along the skin there, before he pulls back long enough to retrieve a bottle of lubricant, which resides on their bedside cabinet.

John warms the lube between his fingers and reaches around Sherlock again, teasing the tight hole below Sherlock's perineum.

John slips one lubricated finger into Sherlock's hole and is rewarded with a thunderous moan above him. Sherlock bites across John's neck and whimpers softly as John slips his finger out and pushes inside of him with two fingers.

"Sherlock, I need," John breathes. 

Sherlock raises himself and straddles John's thighs. He takes the bottle of lubricant which rolled beside his thigh and pours it into the palm of his hand. He reaches down and takes hold of John's cock. John's head falls back against the pillow, he hisses as Sherlock's hand wanks him slowly. 

Sherlock stretches and guides John's cock against his hole, wincing as the warm head slips against his sensitive entrance. John is breathing erratically below him. His eyes are shut tight and his teeth are baring down on his bottom lip, like a vice.

The head of John's cock breaches Sherlock's hole.

Sherlock slides down until he is seated against John's groin. 

John opens his eyes to Sherlock's gaze and reaches down to where they are joined.

His eyes flutter closed as Sherlock moves his hips minutely.

"You feel amazing-" John sighs. "So tight and - and hot. So good, Sherlock. Fuck."

Sherlock stares down at John and moves his hips again, earning himself a moan torn from John's lungs. It sounds like his name. He moves his hips again.

"Sherlock," John moans. "Fuck - please."

Sherlock leans forward, John slips out a little. They kiss as John's cock remains on the periphery. John's eyes shoot open, before he pushes Sherlock back. Sherlock slides back down onto John's cock with a drawn-out groan. He rocks his hips slowly, fucking himself on John's cock.

John grasps onto Sherlock's hips and pushes him onto his back, slipping out minutely and then driving into him again. Sherlock's back arches as he hits the mattress and John thrusts into him, with such a pace, such an intensity. Sherlock cannot close his eyes. He watches John lose control as he thrusts deep inside of him.

Sherlock's legs wrap around John's middle. His sweat-soaked thighs rub against the skin of John's waist.

"John," Sherlock gasps. "Touch me."

Sherlock's back inches from the mattress, clenching his hole around John's cock.

John groans against Sherlock's neck and nods; he reaches down and takes hold of Sherlock's cock. It's slick and hot. It feels heavy in John's hand. He squeezes gently, as Sherlock writhes beneath him.

"Come for me, Sherlock," John breathes, his thrusts slowing. He wanks Sherlock's cock faster and harder.

Sherlock moans beneath him. He gasps for breath.

"Come, Sherlock," John moans, his breathing laboured. He's close.

Sherlock arches under his fingertips and stills. He holds his breath, and as John's thrusts slow to a soft caress against his prostate, he releases his breath and comes over John's fingers. His release spills from him and coats John's hand.

John continues to thrust shallowly inside him. "I'm going to come inside you, Sherlock." 

Sherlock shakes as aftershocks rattle through him. He can only moan and nod his desire.

John lets go of Sherlock's cock and raises his hand to his mouth and licks Sherlock's release from his fingers. Sherlock watches with lazy, wide eyes.

John's thrusts become more erratic. He rests his palms on Sherlock's sweat-slicked chest. His hands slide across with ease and with two final thrusts John is coming inside him. He rides out his orgasm, spilling all of his release inside of Sherlock. 

Sherlock can feel the wetness inside him, the slickness of John's cock as it softens and slips free. 

John collapses beside Sherlock. 

He nestles against Sherlock's side, and his breathing rattles through him. 

 

 

_ London, September 2004 _

_"John, you fell asleep," Sherlock said, gently prodding John's hip._

_John stirred and slowly opened his eyes._

_Sherlock stared down at him and John met his gaze, tensing under Sherlock's touch._

_"I'm so sorry," John said, moving to sit and being stopped by Sherlock's grip around his waist._

_"Don't be an idiot," Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. "It's freezing."_

_John smiled, instinctively curling against Sherlock's side. Sherlock's arm tightened around him._

_"This grass is going to fuck up my back," John said, gazing at the sky._

_"Which grass?" Sherlock smiled._

_John playfully kicked Sherlock's shin. "The grass we are currently lying on."_

_"Ah!" Sherlock sighed. "That grass."_

_John laughed. "You're a tosser."_

_"Yes," Sherlock sighed. "Do you wish to sit up, John?"_

_"No," John started, closing his eyes. "I'm much too comfortable."_

_Sherlock gazed down at John with wide eyes. "Very well."_

 

 

London, January 14 2010

 

Sherlock stares at the ceiling.

John is curled at his side.

The room is in complete darkness and their breathing is indistinguishable in the gloom.

"For our lifetimes?" John asks.

"Problem?" Sherlock breathes.

"I mean," John begins. "Marriage can wait."

"Precisely," Sherlock sighs. "I plan to never part from you."

"So," John breathes. "For our lifetimes, until we decide?"

"That sounds adequate," Sherlock breathes, closing his eyes. "Until we decide."

"When will that be?" John asks.

Sherlock stirs minutely. "Sussex."

"Sussex?" John asks.

"John, you know I-" Sherlock sighs.

"Sorry. What's Sussex?" John asks

"A spherical ripple left behind by the gravitational effect of colliding black holes in previous universes," Sherlock says, matter-of-factly.

"Okay," John says. "What the fuck is that?"

"That, John, is an inevitable full-circle." Sherlock breathes.

"Sussex or us?" John asks.

Sherlock lets out a long breath and curls his arm tighter around John's waist.

"Sussex was the catalyst for our inevitability," Sherlock begins. "It would only be right."

"Oh, you old romantic, you," John smiles.

"Old?" Sherlock quirks one eyebrow up.

"Preserved?" John smiles.

Sherlock frowns. 

"Insufferable?" John grins 

Sherlock pinches John's stomach.

"Infallible?" John breathes.

Sherlock nods. "Better."

"One half of a spherical ripple left behind by the gravitational effect of-" John starts. "I forget the bloody rest. Something about a Venn Diagram."

Sherlock chuckles beside him. "Yes, something like that."


End file.
